


Cellie

by serafina20



Category: Prison Break
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-26
Updated: 2011-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 73
Words: 198,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serafina20/pseuds/serafina20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four months into his sentence for the murder of Oscar Shales, Alexander Mahone gets a new cellie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Alex Mahone never expected to be regarded as something of a hero. To have strangers tell him that he'd done the right thing. That they would have loved to kill the bastard too. To have the head of the FBI tell him that, while he couldn't officially condone Alex's actions, the son of a bitch had it coming to him.

He didn't expect a reduced sentence from the judge and jury. He didn't expect sympathy, support, or protection (such as they could give) from the prison guards. He didn't expect any of it.

And yet, he got it.

Ten to fifteen years for the murder of Oscar Shales. Possibility of parole at seven. Sentence reduction for his cooperation in helping take down the company. Medical help and legal medication for his mental instabilities. Unofficial support from everyone he knew.

Of course, the rest of the prisoners weren't so welcoming of his presence among their ranks. He was ex-FBI. Even if he hadn't personally put away any one of their number, he still represented the Law. And the Law wasn't welcome behind these walls.

The guards could only do so much. Alex was jumped. Beaten. His first three months on the inside, he wound up in the infirmary at least once a week. But he gave as good as he got, stayed to the background as much as possible, never asked for favors from the guards or took up any offers of "protection" from other inmates. And, by his fourth month inside, the beatings tapered off. The harassment didn't end, but he was no longer the sole source of entertainment.

He'd lucked out on a cellmate. Travis was just a kid. A stupid kid who'd gotten messed up with drugs, gotten caught selling, and was put away. A stupid *pretty* kid with big green eyes and freckles across his nose and soft, bow shaped lips. His last cellie had enjoyed abusing those lips, Travis had confessed. It was the only way to keep himself safe from the rest of the predators out there, although Travis hadn't cried too hard when his so-called protector had found himself at the wrong end of a shank on the yard.

Although, the kid had said, blushing an appealing shade of red, he was going to miss the protection.

About half the fights Alex had found himself involved in the first few months were over the kid. Those fights, he always won, simply because he couldn't afford to lose them.

The kid tried to repay Alex. Alex refused every offer. Finally, Travis went as far as to crawl into Alex's bed in the middle of the night and trying to suck him off. Alex woke up before Travis got his pants over his hips and kicked the kid out. Or, rather, tried to. He end up holding Travis for the rest of the night after he dissolved into tears, confessions of years of abuse by his stepfather, his soccer coach, and later his cellmate tumbling from those beautiful lips and against Alex's chest.

How Alex ended up father confessor, he would never understand. He assumed it was part of his penance and took it without complaint.

The next morning, he took Travis to the infirmary. The stories came out again, this time with less tears and more hesitance. He clutched Alex's hand the entire time. Paperwork was filed. A social worker was sent out. More paperwork. Endless nights of nightmares and tears and frustrations. Medication was administered. And, finally, Travis was transferred to the psych ward so he could serve his sentence in relative peace and under the dubious care of the prison psychiatrists and doctors.

After Travis was transferred, the Warden called Alex to his office.

"You did a good thing," he said. "With that kid."

Alex only shrugged. "I only listened."

"You also fought for him. Both in the yard and to get him the care he needed. I appreciate that." He licked his lips. "Do you mind that role?"

Mind that role. Interesting turn of phrase. If he'd been asked if he'd liked it, he would have assumed the Warden was challenging him. Riding him for his presumption. But minding indicated he might be saddled with another charge.

Finally, Alex shrugged again. "Better someone I need to fight for and protect than someone I need to protect myself from."

The Warden cracked a smile. Nodded. "I know it's not easy for you in here, Mr. Mahone. It never is for someone who serve the law. Especially since they know we all admire you for what you did. I can't tell you how many times I've wanted..." He trailed off and smile apologetically. "At any rate. I appreciate the fact you're still following your moral code, rather than sinking to their levels."

"Thank you, sir."

He was studied a moment longer, then nodded. "You'll get your new cellmate tomorrow. I've been wondering what to do with him, and I still wonder, considering.... but I think it'll be okay." He nodded again. "Thank you, Mr. Mahone. You can go."

As Alex was escorted back to his cell, he couldn't help but wonder what exactly he was being saddled with now.

* * *

"Open on eighteen!"

Alex looked up from his book as the door to his cell opened. He hopped off the bunk, feet just hitting the floor as the guard entered, trailed by another.

"Here's your new cellie, Alex. I don't know what the Warden's thinking, but... play nice." He stepped aside, shoved the other man in front of him.

Michael Scofield stumbled, almost dropped the blankets and pillow he was carrying. Blue, blue eyes met Alex's, wide, shocked. He straightened, cheeks flushing, pulling the blankets closer to his body.

The guard stepped out of the cell. "Close on eighteen!"

The door shut with an overloud metal clang.

For a long moment, neither man moved. The air was thick. Silent. Tense. Michael's nose was pink and chapped. He breathed through his mouth, loud and raspy. It was the only sound in the room.

Alex didn't know what to do. What to say. What did you say to the man you hunted? The man you admired and respected, but had tried to kill time and again. The man you'd tried to blame for ruining your life when you always knew, deep down, the blame rested solely on your shoulders.

What did you say? He had no idea. All he knew was the guards hate this man, the man who'd broken out of prison, made the guards of Fox River look like fools. The Warden wanted him protected. And Michael...

And Michael might not even want it. He would need it, from bitter guards and lustful inmates. But not from him. The man who'd once painted a bull's-eye on his chest and fired away.

What did you say?

He opened his mouth. All that came out was, "I've got top bunk." He frowned. Heard the words. Then, when no others came to him, he climbed onto his bunk and picked up his book once again.

After a moment, Michael moved to the bunk. Alex listened as he set about making the bed, working quietly. After what seemed like forever--the boy was meticulous--Michael moved to the bathroom area. Set his kit on the sink, opened it. Pulled out his toothbrush, paste, and plastic cup. Placed them carefully next to Alex's, arranging everything so the bristles didn't accidentally touch one another. Next came a plastic wrapped bar of soap and grey tinged wash cloth. Michael made a face at the cloth and the towel that came out next, prompting a snort from Alex. When Michael looked over at him, Alex quickly lowered his eyes back to the book in a lame attempt to deny he'd been watching.

Michael made a soft sound. It almost sounded like a laugh, but Alex couldn't be sure. When he looked up again, Michael, still fussing at the sink, was smiling.

Alex licked his lips. Watched as Michael finished with the sink, his supplies neatly in place. Looked away again as the other man turned.

The bunk shifted as Michael climbed on to the bottom. Springs squeaked, rusty and in long need of repair.

Without having read a word, Alex turned the page. Every bit of his being was focused on the man below him.

Michael started coughing. Deep, hacking, phlegm filled coughs. The entire bed frame shook. He kept coughing. Inhaled in short, painful sounding gasps.

He set down his book and slid from the bed. With a flick of his wrists, he unrolled about a yard of toilet paper from the roll. He tore it off, then tossed it onto the bed at Michael. Then he removed the toothbrush and past Michael had spent so much time arranging from the cup and filled it with water.

"Thanks," Michael rasped. He spat into the tissue, coughed again. Then he took the cup from Alex's hand and sipped.

Alex stepped away from Michael to lean against the wall. "Did they give you any tissue?"

He shook his head. "Didn't think to ask."

"You sound awful."

Michael smiled wanly. "What a time to get a cold, huh?" He coughed again into the tissue. "Welcome back to Prisneyland, where the cells are cold, the Kleenex doesn't have lotion, and no one has a cough drop." Another cough.

"Prisneyland?" Alex asked with a smile.

"Yeah." He coughed and nodded. "One of the first things Fernando said to me when I got to Fox River. I'd practically just stepped into the cell, looked outside, and saw someone get shanked. Scared me to death, but Fernando just smiled and said, 'Welcome to Prisneyland, Fish.'" Michael shrugged. "He still calls me that."

"Ah."

Silence again, save for Michael's now subdued coughing and water intake.

Michael cleared his throat. "So."

"So." He cleared his throat and looked away from the pretty eyes and flushed face. "How long's your sentence?"

"Seven to ten. Life was on the table, but I had a good lawyer."

"A really good lawyer," he agreed.

"You?"

"Ten to fifteen. Maybe seven, if I'm lucky. Which I probably will be." Alex smiled. "I'm popular with the guards and the warden."

"Not so much with the inmates."

"Not so much, no."

Michael nodded. Coughed again. "This sucks," he groaned, falling back on his bunk. "I've been downing vitamin C and Echinacea and everything they say you should. Drinking gallons of water, the whole bit. And I'm still sick."

"Because with the stress of prison looming over you, vitamin C and tea should be more than enough," he said dryly.

Hs cellmate stuck his tongue out at him.

There was a loud buzzing that heralded the unlocking of the doors.

"Yard time!" a guard yelled.

Well. This would be interesting.

Alex pushed off the wall. "Coming?"

Michael whimpered.

"The fresh air will do you good. Better than these moldy walls."

With a sigh that came from his toes, Michael rolled off the bed. He grabbed the baseball cap at the foot of his bed and he followed Alex out and jammed it on his head. Then, he shoved his fists into his pockets and hunched his shoulders, striving for invisibility.

Alex could only hope it would work. But, with a face like Michael's and the recent loss of another pretty face, he could only assume that Michael would be noticed right away. Especially if he tagged along with Alex. Not that Alex was going to suggest Michael go off on his own.

"Yo, FBI," a voice shouted almost the moment Alex stepped into the yard.

Fuck.

Alex turned toward the man lumbering his way. Tall, built, crooked nose and broken teeth, Charles McNab had been Travis's greatest admirer. Alex had been sent to the infirmary many, many times by this man. He foresaw years of such abuse. Possibly continuing right this moment.

"Who's your new cellie, FBI?" McNab asked, straining to look over Alex's shoulder.

"No one," he said shortly, continuing to walk.

"What's your name, kid?" McNab--who was only twenty-five--asked.

Michael was in Alex's shadow, dogging his footsteps so closely he was stepping on his heels.

Alex reached back and snagged Michael by the arm, pulling him even. This proved to be a mistake, since Michael lifted his face while being pulled, offering McNab full view.

"Fucking Christ, FBI, how the hell do you score these cellies?" he demanded. He planted himself in front of Michael, who didn't stop in time to keep from bumping into him.

"McNab, I'm warning you..."

"Hey, Precious," McNab said, ignoring Alex. "Name's McNab, but feel free to call me Daddy." He held out his hand.

Michael glanced at Alex, clearly unsure what to do.

"Come on, baby. It's just a hand. Ain't gonna bite you." He grabbed Michael's and shook. "There, see? That wasn't so hard. Now was it?"

Michael coughed. Pulled his and away and coughed into his elbow. "Nice to meet you. Alex?"

"We've got a game of chess waiting. Come on, Michael."

"Now wait, there, FBI." McNab threw his arm around Michael's neck and yanked him away. "Precious and me have some serious talking to do. Don't we, Precious?" He glanced down and saw Michael's tattoo peeking from under the cuffs of Michael's shirt. "You're inked? You don't look the type."

"There's a lot you don't know about me." He untangled himself and stepped back to Alex. "Thanks but no thanks."

McNabs hand clamped around Michael's arm. Michael winced and twisted it, unable to get it loose.

"Wait, I know who you are, Precious. You're that Fox River kid. You gonna break out of here, too? Because, if you are, you're bringing me along."

"My prison break days are over," Michael wheezed. "I'm staying and doing my time."

"Then I suggest you and me go and have a little talk, Precious. I think we might be able to work out a nice kind of arrangement, you know?"

Alex stepped into McNab's space until they were nose to nose. "Let him go, McNab."

Eyes slid to him. "You ran the other one off, FBI. I want this one."

"No."

"You want to go through this again?"

"Alex.."

He didn't listen. Simply threw the punch, feeling McNab's nose crunch under his fist. The return punch was solid in his stomach, like running into a brick wall.

He lost it. Rage overcame him and he was on McNab, kicking and punching and so much pain and there was blood and he just. Didn't. Care.

Guns fired. Whistles blew. He was torn from McNab, thrown to the ground.

"Don't, please, don't, just stop," he heard in his ear.

He rolled onto his back. Michael was next to him, coughing hard, wheezing. His arms were tight around Alex, holding him back from McNab, whose gang was doing the same to him.

"Dammit, Alex," one of the guard--Simms, he determined--said on hauling him up. "Seriously, couldn't you have just let them have him? You know what he did."

Alex blood from his face. Grabbed Michael by the arm and helped him to his feet. "He needs to see a doctor," he said. More blood gushed from his nose and into his mouth. He wiped again, smearing it.

Simms snorted. Rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, looks like you all get a trip. Come on, cons. Move 'em."


	2. Chapter 2

Michael was already in their cell when Alex returned. He was in bed, eyes closed, but they opened as soon as the cell door clanged shut.

"Hey." He sounded better, if sleepy. His eyes were glazed and the cell smelled like Vicks. "Thought they might send you to the SHU."

Alex shook his head. "Confined to the cell for twenty-four hours. McNab is, too. There's still predators in the yard, though, so...."

"Not going anywhere," Michael said. His eyes fell shut. "They gave me stuff. Said if I get worse, I'll hafta stay in the infirmary. But could stay here, if I want."

"Don't see why you'd want to stay here." Alex untied his shoes and placed them under the bed. "The infirmary's nicer. Somewhat."

He shook his head. "I'm fine here."

Alex climbed onto his bunk. Lay back and stared at the ceiling. He was sore all over. One rib was cracked. The right side of his face was bruised. He'd pulled a muscle in his thigh. Also, the warden hadn't been happy, only because Alex had thrown the first punch and he couldn't throw them both in the SHU without endangering Michael. Thus, they were confined to their cells, which was unusual, but not unheard of.

"You don't have to fight for me," Michael said suddenly.

"It's fine."

"No, really. I don't need any favors or anything. I can fight for myself."

"It's fine," he said again.

"It's just..."

"Michael."

Michael fell silent.

With a sigh, Alex picked up his book. Pam had brought it with her on her last visit. It was interesting, but he couldn't concentrate. The body below his had all his attention. Unfortunately, he didn't know what to say or how to act. He didn't know this kid, not really. And what he did know, he liked. Admired.  
At least they were both interested in the same things. Conversation would be interesting, should either of them ever decide to start one.

Michael coughed. Springs squeaked. "Thank you, Alex."

Alex closed his book and rested it on his chest. "You're welcome, Michael. Go to sleep."

* * *

Michael slept through count the next morning. Or tried to. Alex hauled him out of his bunk and dragged him to the line. He sounded worse this morning than he had the day before, every breath deep and phlegm-filled. Even the guards were sympathetic. When they brought Alex's breakfast, they brought some for Michael as well, informing him that they'd take him to the doctor in an hour.

Michael nodded sleepily, thanked them, ate two bites of eggs and a couple bites of toast and went back to bed Alex forced some orange juice down his throat before he drifted off completely.

Alex read. There wasn't anything really to do. He had books, he had a deck of cards, and he had his own mind. There was a chessboard he could ask a guard for, but with Michael asleep, there wasn't much point. Maybe if he woke up later.

A guard came. Took Michael to the infirmary. Brought him back twenty minutes later.

All around the block, cell doors so the inmates could wander around the cellblock for awhile. A guard glanced in to theirs, saw Michael still asleep, and didn't bother unlocking it.

A few of McNab's pals wandered by the cell.

"Hey, FBI. Enjoying your boytoy in there?"

"I hear he's real pretty. Why don't you wake him up? Show him off?"

Alex kept reading, steadily ignoring them. They continued in such a fashion for a bit longer until a guard chased them off. He thought about putting a sheet up, but decided that it'd be worse to hear the voices and not see the faces. At least this way, they could see how uninterested he was.

Lunch came and went. Michael roused himself enough to sit at he small table at the front of the cell with Alex and eat. This time, he did eat, cleaning his plate and about half of Alex's. Alex let him have as much as he wanted, pleased that the kid's appetite was back. He'd always thought Michael was too thin, and the food here wasn't exactly four star.

"Do you have another book?" Michael asked, still sounding like wet wrapping paper. He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"Yeah." He rose from the table and opened the top right hand drawer of the small dresser that was tucked between the sink and the wall. "About ten," he added, looking at his collection.

Michael coughed. He shuffled over to Alex, red-eyed and dripping nose. His body seemed to radiate heat as he peered into the dresser and picked through the books.

He was wearing his hair a longer now. It was thick and full and almost startlingly black. Jet black on such a pale, pale man, and he pulled it off quite well. He'd have to cut it, of course. It was too beautiful. Too pretty. Much to tempting in a place like this.

It slowly dawned on Alex that he hadn't moved. That he was standing inches from Michael, their bodies practically pressed together. That his eyes were on the nape of Michael's neck, which was smooth and white and strangely vulnerable. That Michael had chosen his book now, was holding it, and turning his eyes to Alex, wide and wondering.

There was a moment of confusion. Alex wasn't sure what he should do, what was expected. There seemed to be a sort of expectation in Michael's eyes, but Alex didn't know what he was expecting. What he was supposed to do.

"P.I.!" someone shouted on the floor. There was a loud buzzer. Metal doors slid open.

Michael blinked and looked away. "Thanks," he said. He held up the book. "Linc said he'd bring me some when he visited. If you, uh, wanted to share." He moved away and went back to his bunk.

Alex swallowed, trying to work moisture back into his throat. "Sure. That'd be nice." He cleared his throat and climbed onto his bunk.

Things were so awkward between them. He didn't understand it. Yes, they'd been enemies, but it'd never been personal. At least, not on his end. Okay, yes. He had accused Michael of ruining his life, but the man had to know he'd been desperate and out of his mind. Michael had dug up all the information about Shales. He'd known what happened to Cameron. Alex had been out of his mind during that time. Anything he said couldn't be taken seriously.

He did know, right?

A thousand times he'd imagined meting Michael face to face, unencumbered by secrets and the law and the conspiracy. Of hatred born of desperation. A thousand imagined meetings. A thousand conversations. It'd always been so easy in his mind. It still should. Out of everyone Alex had ever known, Michael was most like him. Genius. Reclusive. Loyal to the point of self-destruction. Idealistic in better moments, despairing in the bad ones. Continually kept apart from the world by the inability to understand or put up with the mind numbing stupidity of even the smartest of people.

It should be easy. It wasn't. He didn't know why, but it felt like there was a wall between him and Michael. No matter how he tried to approach it, he couldn't think of how to scale it. Of the words that would tear it down and open a line of conversation between them. Or at least banish the air of unease and... expectance.

The P.I. crew came back. A fight broke out down the hall in the TV room. Michael started snoring. A group of inmates went off to their literacy class. An hour later, they came back. Time dragged.

"Yard time!" someone shouted below.

Cell doors slid open and inmates streamed past. McNab's crew made faces at Mahone as they passed. The Italian mafia glowered at him. A group of skinheads sized Michael up; a group of black men barely gave him a glance. A few men known to gang rape anything that moved passed by slowly and finally, finally one of the CO's stopped.

"Scofield, you want out?"

"Can I stay? I'm not feeling so good."

The CO nodded. "Doc said we should let you stay if you weren't feeling up to it. Alex, you need anything?"

"Wouldn't mind the chessboard."

He nodded again and disappeared. A few minutes later, he returned with the set. "Knock yourself out," he said, passing it through.

Alex smile flatly. "Of course."

Michael was out of bed and sitting at the table. Alex set up the board and palmed two pieces, holding his hand out for Michael. He tapped on, choosing the white, giving him first move.

It was so damn quite. The entire wing was deserted, save for them, McNab and a few guards. Silence was heaviest, though, in the cell.

Why was it so hard? Shouldn't it be easier to open a conversation with Michael than it was a complete stranger? And yet, with Travis, it had taken mere minutes before the cell was filled with the sounds of conversation. Granted, it was all on the kid's side, but at least it had been something.

With Michael? There was coughing, fidgeting, discreet glances and... nothing.  
This was insane.

Alex cleared his throat, watching as Michael moved a pawn.

"So," he said, voice sounding rusty and uncertain. "How's your brother?"

Michael licked his bottom lip, eyes flicking to Alex. Color stained his cheeks. "Good. He, uh. He and LJ have a house in Chicago. They bought with the settlement money."

"That's good."

"Yeah."

Alex sighed. Moved one of his pieces. "LJ back in school?"

He nodded. "He's a little behind after all that happened. Struggling. Both with school and just adjusting to normal life, you know? He's got a lot of anger."

"Is he seeing anyone?"

"Yeah. He's got a really good psychologist." Michael bit his bottom lip and added, "I should know."

"You go to him?"

"Used to. Before." He glanced up. "You ever see anyone? Because of. You know."

So many possibilities in that you know. So many things Alex would need professional help for. Michael, though, was probably talking about the obvious. "I see a state shrink once a month. Go over my guilt. My childhood and all that jazz."

"Bad childhood?"

"Abusive father."

"Ah." He moved again. "I know a bit about that."

"Oh?"

"Foster father, but still."

"Right." Alex studied the board. "You seeing anyone?"

Michael nodded. "Court mandated. Twice a month. Anyone who gets himself thrown into jail to save his brother must be crazy. They even talking about throwing me into Psyche at one point."

"Hey, FBI!" McNab shouted suddenly, breaking into the uneasy conversation.

Alex rolled his eyes. Moved his piece into position.

"FBI! Don't go thinking this is over between us. I'll have your boy. Don't you doubt that for one minute. Fine piece of ass like this belongs to a real man."

"Could he be more stereotypical?" Alex asked. He rose and went to front of the cell. McNab's cell wasn't visible from his, being on the second tier and to the left, but he lowered the sheet taped above the bars anyway. It wouldn't do a damn bit of good, not even to prove a point. Still. It gave the illusion of privacy, and even though McNab was still detailing all he would do to Michael, it was easier to ignore.

When he turned back to the table, he found Michael was blushing hotly.

Oops.

He raised an eyebrow. "You're not worried about your reputation, are you?"

"No. No, it's fine."

Alex sat again and studied the board. "My last cellmate was harassed by about half the inmates. He calmed down when I lowered the sheet. It's a habit by now."

Michael captured one of his pawns. "He calmed when it was lowered?"

"Well, nothing happened when it was lowered," Alex said wryly. "Not with me." He frowned, studying the pieces. He moved. "He was young." He had no idea why he said that. Like he needed to explain. Like it was any of Michael's business.

"McNab said you ran your cellmate off?" He captured another of Alex's pieces.

"He needed help. Lots of it. He was moved to psyche. Even though no one's touched him for months, his fans are still upset he's gone."

Michael chewed on his lower lip. Was silent, fingers tapping the table. Then, "Was he good looking?"

Alex looked up, surprised. He watched him narrowly, weighing the question, wondering the intent. "Yes," he finally answered. He didn't add what he was thinking. That Michael was much more beautiful tan Travis. A thousand times more alluring.

He didn't say that. Didn't even know why he was thinking it. Not that there was any question that the thought was true. It was simply not something someone said. Especially not to one's cellmate. Especially not to a cellmate you'd protected just the day before. He'd give off the wrong impression.

Conversation dried up. Michael was somewhere else and quickly lost the game. The put the set aside, went back to their bunks, and climbed back into their books.

Routine, routine, routine.

The inmates came back. Everyone lined up for count. Sent back to their cells to be locked up for two hours. Think about their crimes or whatever.

Then, it was time for dinner. Alex's twenty-four hours of cell confinement was over and Michael was feeling well enough to venture out. They walked to the mess hall together, still not talking. Michael was closer to him than Alex's own shadow. They both got looks, especially Michael, who received more than his share of catcalls and so-called better offers, but McNab kept his distance. They made it to the mess hall without being unduly harassed.

Alex was just about to go inside when one of the guards yell, "Mahone! Where the hell do you think you're going?"

He and Michael both stopped, looked at the guard.

Then it hit him. "Oh, fuck. My meds." He touched Michael lightly on the small of is back. "I have to go join the pill line. It'll only be a minute. Will you be okay?"

Michael gave him a small, amused smile. "I have done this before, you know."

Unaccountably warm, Alex smiled back and nodded. He squeezed Michel's arm, then crossed the hall to join the other inmates in need of medication.

Now that he was being legally medicated, Alex was on Xanax. It'd been a bitch detoxing from the midazolam, especially since Alex had been inadvertently overmedicating himself. They'd allowed him to go through withdrawals before putting him on trial, and after the medication was out of his system, the transition to Xanax was relatively smooth. They also worked better than the midazolam, keeping him calmer and steadier without memory problems.

"How are your ribs?" the doctor asked as he handed Alex his pills.

"Sore." He swallowed the pills, chasing them with some water, then opened his mouth for the doctor to make sure he'd taken him. He always felt so stupid at that part, like a child.

"You're not a young man anymore, you know," he said. "Keep fighting lke this and you're going to cause some serious damage."

Alex shrugged. "May I go?"

"Just be sure to tell us if any pain gets worse."

"Yes, sir."

When he got back to the dining hall, he saw that Michael was sitting in the farthest corner. Alex's usual seat. Either he'd asked where Alex sat, or he'd just known.

Unfortunately, Michael was surrounded by the Italian mafia. Ricky and Nicky Esposito and Paul Rossi. The Esposito's were twins, incarcerated within a month of each other. Paul was a cousin of some kind. All three were related in some way to the late John Abruzzi. Needless to say, they weren't big fans of Alex.

Ricky had a chair pulled right next to Michael, his face almost buried in Michael's neck. His brother was sitting on the table next to Michael's food. Paul leaned across, face in Michael's.

"Gentlemen," Alex greeted them. He set his tray of food on the table next to Paul.

Paul glared at him. Stood. "You think about what we said, Blueprints," he said to Michael. "Things can be real easy for you in here if you let 'em."

Michael smiled beatifically. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, voice perfectly even. His eyes seemed to sparkle with... mirth perhaps?

"All right, then. Come on, boys. There's an unpleasant stench here." He turned, shoulder smacking into Alex's. The other two managed to smack into him as they left as well.

Michael grinned at him, amusement plain on his face.

Alex just rolled his eyes. "What was that about?" he asked, sitting.

"Abruzzi's arm. They're offering me protection for services rendered. Apparently, breaking him out was enough to secure their gratitude."

"They probably hope you'll do the same for them."

"Maybe. Anyway, they'll only do it if I stop hanging around you."

His eyebrow quirked. "Kind of hard as we're cellmates."

"They suggested I put in a transfer. Apparently Ricky's trying to get rid of his."

"Ricky will fuck you every day and twice on Sunday," Alex said bluntly, something burning in the pit of his stomach. "He thinks the Sabbath was designed for wantonness."

Michael pressed his lips together. Lowered his face so Alex couldn't see it. His shoulders shook.

"What?"

He coughed. "Nothing." Another wave of coughing, soothed slightly by some water. "I'm not going to do it."

Alex was slightly mollified. "Oh."

"But thanks for the warning."

Jesus. Why the hell had even said that? "It's just... from what I've heard... I mean, his cell is right above ours."

"Right." Michael smiled. It was a full, genuine smile, with creases near his eyes, white teeth gleaming, face aglow.

Alex found himself almost hypnotized. He just sat there, looking at Michael, not moving.

Blood filled Michael's cheeks. He lowered his face and began eating.

He was staring. Acting like... like... He didn't even know what he was acting like. Not like himself, that was for certain.

Tearing his eyes away from Michael, Alex speared something that once may have been broccoli. "Whatever happened to Sara Tancredi?" he asked.

Michael dropped his fork. It clattered loudly on the table before he managed to pick it back up. "Um." He cleared his throat. "Um, she, uh... Because of what the Company did to her, the chargers were dropped or transmuted. She moved to California. I haven't heard from her in awhile."

"Oh." He bit his lip. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. It wasn't just me. She was tortured during all of it. So, uh, she's just dealing. Maybe one day, you know?"

"Right."

Michael stabbed at his steak. "What about your wife?"

"Ex-wife," Alex corrected. He frowned. Shrugged. "She stood by me at the trial. We thought about giving marriage another go, but..." He shook his head. "Our time has passed."

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks."

Silence again.

He really wasn't hungry. Neither, apparently, was Michael. He drank his soup, ate some bread, and that was it. He didn't even eat his cookie.

"Do we get to shower?" Michael asked when they got back to the cell. "I feel disgusting." He lay down on his bunk and closed his eyes.

"Well, you've been coughing up phlegm since you've got here. I don't blame you." Alex rubbed his face and sat at the table. "They'll come around in an hour and gather us."

"Ricky's not going to be there, is he? He told me he wants to see my tattoos."

"Now there's a come-on you don't often here."

He smirked. "Maybe not you."

"The Italian mafia usually go with the morning group. Ricky can't get that perfect hair without the morning steam."

A deeper smirk. "You really don't like him, do you?"

"They don't like me. I did kill their cousin. Or step-cousin. Or whatever the hell he was."

"I was always surprised he went first. I really hoped it would be T-Bag. What with his hand and all."

"What the fuck happened with his hand? I never got the answer to that, seeing as he was dead when I questioned it."

Michael opened his eyes. "T-Bag knew Abruzzi would leave him behind, off the plane, so he handcuffed himself to me. And swallowed the key. Abruzzi chopped it off and we left T-Bag in the middle of the woods."

"And he survived?"

"You know what they say about cockroaches."

"Mahone, Scofield! Gather your gear for the showers if you're coming," a CO shouted as he passed their cell

"Say it louder, why don't you, boss. I'm not sure McNab heard you," Alex called.

He turned. "Don't get smart. Think I care about that little punk's ass?"

"No. Nor mine. But mine's the one in front of his, so I care."

The CO rolled his eyes. "You know, Alex, you've really got a hardon for the ones with targets on their chests, don't you? It's gonna get you killed."

Michael climbed out of bed. Dug his shower kit from the dresser along with a change of clothes. "We going?" he asked. Hopeful. Big eyes. Snot dripping from his nose.

"Wipe your nose." He grabbed his shower kit and clothes. When the cell doors opened, he and Michael followed the crowd to the shower.

Like all locker rooms, this one smelled like sweaty socks, sweaty men, chlorine, and soap. Alex couldn't figure out where the chlorine came from, unless it was in the detergent they used to clean. Whatever, it was strangely comforting to know that some things never changed, even on the inside.

A cursory glance showed the worst sex offenders were elsewhere. McNab was nowhere to be seen, Ricky hadn't gotten the memo. There were still horny men and Michael was still beautiful, but it wasn't a bad crowd for a first time out.

Although, really, Michael might have managed to repel predators all on his own this time. The moment he stepped into the steamy showers, his nose flowed and he started hacking like crazy. He was given plenty of space.

Alex stayed close by, of course. Every muscle was tense, ready to spring should someone so much as look at Michael wrong. He watched everyone and everything, washing quickly, trying not to be too obvious. He didn't want anyone to attack, but he didn't want to invite a fight, either.

Showers were time, ten minutes. The water, while warm, was never hot enough for Alex's standards. He washed quickly, trained by now, not lingering, not even lifting his face to the spray. It was all efficiency. Lather, rinse, move on. Get done and get out.

He finished in just under seven minutes. Rinsed his hair once again. "Are you..."

The words died on his tongue as he turned to Michael.

He'd forgotten how beautiful it was. How exquisite. How perfectly detailed, intricately drawn. Wonderfully imagined and hopelessly symbolic.

Alex had seen it countless times. Studied the photographs, memorized the lines as they laid over flesh. Been enthralled by the work. But to see it in person.

He'd never seen the damage done on Michael's back. The burn that took out the angel's wing. Part of the blueprints.

Without thinking, Alex reached for Michael. Brushed his fingertips over the burn. Over the missing portion of the tattoo. Over ruined skin.

Michael inhaled sharply. Turned. His eyes caught Alex's, bright, fear fading as he saw who had touched him.

And, suddenly, Alex realized what had been wrong this whole time. Why things had been so damn awkward between them. Why conversation wouldn't come, why a simple sentence seemed so hard to say.

Talking with Michael wasn't what he wanted to be doing. His body knew that. His mind had just been too slow.

The water shut off.

"Out of the showers!"

Michael took Alex's fingers. Squeezed them. Walked away, leading Alex back to the locker area.

They dressed without a sound. Went back to the wing. Stood on the line for count, then were shut in their cell for the night.

The lights went out. In the darkness, Michael's eyes gleamed.

Alex licked his lips. "Michael," he whispered.

Michael took Alex by the wrists. Backed against the bunk, pulling Alex with him. "You and the kid. Your cellmate?"

"Never," Alex breathed. "I've never..."

"Ah." He closed his eyes. Rubbed his nose and mouth against Alex's face. "I wondered."

"I've been so stupid."

Michael's lips closed over Alex's. "No." Slid his hands up Alex's arms. Kissed him deeper. "No. Not stupid."

Hands on either side of Michael's face, Alex kissed him. Properly. With passion. Tongue brushed against Michael's. Moved. Caressed. Fingers threaded through his hair.

Michael pulled away and coughed. "I'm not..." Coughed again, the wet wrapping paper sound back again.

Alex kissed him on the forehead. "Sleep. Get better. We have time."

"Seven to ten years," Michael said wryly. He took Alex by the wrist. "I don't suppose...."

Doubtful, Alex glanced at the tiny bunk. At Michael. He nodded. "We can try." Kissed him again.

Apparently, they would be trying a lot of things.


	3. Chapter 3

For the first time in months, he was warm. Comfortable. Snug in that small child way on rainy days, crawling under the covers, packing your bed with pillows and stuffed animals before floating away, safe from harm. Safe from everything.

This never happened. Prison was, by nature, cold. Even in the warmth of spring. Even when the heaters worked, warming the cellblock, driving back the icy of winter. Even when covered in extra blankets and a knit cap and stuffed in bed with the body of your too-young, too-abused cellmate, trying to squeeze even a bit of warmth back into your body.

The only time he'd come close to feeling half as warm as he was now were on the days Pam and Cameron came to visit. When they left, the cold was twice as harsh as before.

Now, though, there was warmth everywhere. It radiated from the inside out. Outside in, as Michael's body--soft, yet lean and angular--molded with his, fitting Alex perfectly.

He tightened his arms around Michael.

"You awake?" Michael, his voice raspy and sore-sounding, asked. He rolled over in Alex's arms, one leg sliding between Alex's own.

"Yes." He opened his eyes. "Morning."

Michael smiled and ran his fingers down Alex's jaw. "Morning."

Tentatively, Alex rubbed Michael's back, pressing his palm up his spine. "How do you feel?"

"Better." Michael licked his lips. "I shouldn't have kissed you last night. You're probably going to get my cold now."

"I think I would have gotten it anyway," he reassured the other man. "It's a small cell and you've been hacking all over it." To prove his point, he leaned in and kissed Michael.

His mouth parted, drawing Alex's tongue inside. His lips moved, hard, hungry. Hands gripped him, pulling him so tightly to Michael there was no space between them. Every part of their body was pressed together, lined together. He could feel Michael's heart pounding against him.

They were both breathing heavily when they broke apart. Michael turned his head away and coughed against his arm as Alex tried to catch his breath. Again, he rubbed Michael's back, trying to soothe the convulsions.

"Sorry," Michael gasped. He cleared his throat, coughed once more, then turned his big, shiny blue eyes full force on Alex.

God. How could he not have realized before how much he wanted this man? How could he have been so blind, so stupid?

He traced Michael's eyebrows wonderingly. "How long?" he asked. "How long have you known you wanted me?"

Michael's face took on a look of deep concentration. His eyes went inward, tongue ran over his bottom lip contemplatively. "I'm not sure. I kept having dreams about you while we were on the run. At first, it was just of what happened in the elevator. Seeing you with LJ, the shock of you being there. The look on your face." He smiled, touched Alex's cheek. "You were so... cute. Curious and admiring and... Almost amused. It was terrifying having you there. Same with the cemetery. You shouldn't have been there, but you were. It threw me. But, at the same time, kind of exhilarating. Finally, there was someone who thought like me. That'd never happened." He licked his lips again. "But I think I really knew that I was attracted to you, that I wanted you, after I called you."

His face warmed at the memory. "God, that call. I was so jittery the rest of the day. I couldn't sleep."

He grinned. "Glad to know I affected you as much as you did me." He kissed near Alex's ear. "I was so hard by the end of that call," he whispered. "Your voice was so sexy. Low with just the hint of a growl. A bit of menace. It turned me on, Alex. You have no idea how much."

Alex swallowed hard. Let out a shaky breath. "I'm getting something of an idea," he whispered back. His mouth was devoid of all moisture. Valiantly, he tried to work some back in.

"After that, I had a hard time staying objective. I wanted to get you on my side. When Kellerman shot you... God." He swallowed. "I was so frightened. And I couldn't even worry about you because I had so much else to deal with." Michael put his fingers over Alex's mouth. Feeling his lips with a gentle pressure. "And now you're here. We're here, together." A smiled blossomed on his face. "And you want me."

"I do." He took Michael's hand and kissed it.

"You've never been with a man, have you?"

He shook his head. "I had the occasional fantasy. A crush or two in my younger days. But my practical experience has always been with women." He touched Michael's cheek. "It never even occurred to me until last night.... But you knew."

"I suspected," he corrected. "I could never get a read on you when I was on the run. I mean, you were still so in love with Pam and consumed by worry for her and your son. And then the chase ended. You confessed your crime, I turned myself in. I lost track of what happened to you because of everything going on with me and my family." He gave Alex a crooked smile. "And then you were here."

"I was just as surprised as you when you stepped into the cell."

"I could tell." He kissed Alex's upper lip. "I was confused by you. You barely talked to me, like you were angry or something. Which I understood, considering that I messed up your life."

Alex shook his head. "You didn't. I did that on my own. If anything, it's because of you that I took control of it again. Although, I guess that control doesn't really start until I get out."

"Containment period." Michael sighed. "There was a moment a couple days ago, when they first brought me in, when I was afraid I really wouldn't be able to make it. I felt like I was going to snap. Completely." He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let it out. "But I didn't. And when I got in here... it was sort like someone was saying, 'Here's your reward for doing the right thing. Have fun.'" He grinned. "Of course, you didn't make it easy. So many mixed signals."

"I didn't mean to give you mixed signals. I didn't mean to give you any signals. I swear, I didn't know."

"I started getting that. I mean, you were very... protective. Chivalric, almost, but in here, you didn't say anything. And I started realizing you didn't know what to say. Which made me not know what to say." He hitched a shoulder. "I wasn't sure, though, until you got jealous of Ricky."

"I wasn't jealous," he protested.

Michael smirked. "'He'll fuck you every day and twice and Sundays'?" he mocked. "'He thinks the Sabbath was made for wantonness.'"

Face hot, Alex said, "I was warning you."

"You were being possessive. Telling me that you didn't want another man touching me. Warning me would have been something like, 'Ricky takes payment for his protection by forcing his cellie to service him' or 'He's gonna rape you, you know.' But that? Clear jealousy." He traced his thumb over Alex's neck. "Ricky's genuinely attracted to me. I mean, he's gay and I think he's lonely. I, however, am not attracted to him. You don't have anything to worry about."

He closed his eyes. Rested his forehead against Michael's. "This is insane, you know. We're in prison."

"No one has to know," Michael said. Gave him another soft kiss. "We can keep this secret."

"We just spent the night in bed together."

"No one noticed."

"The guards had to have."

Michael sighed. "I can't be around you and not want you." He opened his eyes. "I can't share a space with you and not hope that, one day, something happens between us. I'm willing to put up with what comes are way for a few hours of heaven behind these bars."

It was Alex's turn to sigh. To whisper Michael's name and pull him in for a kiss. It was the only answer he could give, the only one possible.

From out on the floor, there was a sound. A quiet buzzing, muffled by walls, only audible to those who were listening for it.

Alex pulled away from Michael. "They'll be waking us up in about forty-five minutes. I think it's best for me to be in my bunk before lights on. And for you to try and get a little more sleep."

Michael rolled his eyes. "That won't happen. I'm up for the morning."

"Rest then. I wouldn't want the cold to double back on you because you expended yourself too much." He climbed over Michael and out of bed.

"Oh, fine. So that's your excuse for not having any fun." Michael touched Alex's hip, looking longingly at him.

He rolled his eyes. "No, my excuse is every time you get the slightest bit out of breath, you sound like you're going to die by choking on your own phlegm."

"Excuses, excuses."

"Trust me. When I'm sure you're up to it, we'll find a way to have plenty of fun. I promise." He climbed onto his bunk.

"And you always follow through on your promises, right?"

"Every time."

* * *

When Michael had stepped into the cell two days before, Alex had expected a lot of things. Harassments. Threats. Possible sexual assault from other inmates. Possible abuse from bitter guards. Heavy need for protection, just as the warden had predicted.

What he hadn't expected was that Michael would be somewhat of a celebrity.

It started at breakfast. Again, on the way to the mess hall, Michael got looks, catcalls, whispers, and points. Alex had glowered at anyone who'd so much as looked at his cellmate, which was why, he thought later, no one tried to approach them. They made it to the mess hall, through the line, and to their seats with nothing more than a, "Hey, Blueprints, how 'bout showing me your tats sometimes?" It was, in Alex's opinion, a continued victory that Michael had only been overtly threatened once so far.

"Take more," Alex said while they were getting their food. Michael had just waved off a second scoop of eggs.

"I'm fine."

"Give him more," he said, not caring how it sounded.

"FBI, Blueprints just said he didn't want none," Jacks, a wiry Hispanic man convicted of smuggling weapons, said. He crowded up behind Michael, eyes narrowed at Alex, clearly ready for a fight.

"Back off, Jacks. This is none of your business."

"Maybe it is, maybe ain't. But no reason for you to go shoving anything down his mouth that he don't want, eh?"

Michael snorted and quickly covered it up with a sneeze. Cheeks bright red, he turned. "It's cool, man. Don't worry. He just knows that if I end up being hungrier than I think, I'll take it off his plate." He slid his tray back for more eggs and clapped his hand on Jacks's shoulder. "Thanks, man."

Jacks looked at Michael a moment, then back at Alex. "I've got my eye on you, FBI." He looked back to Michael. "You need anything, Blueprints, I'm your man. Name's Jacks. Me and mine'd be happy to have you."

"Thanks, Jacks, I'll keep that in mind."

"Move it, cons!" a CO shouted.

Obediently, all three did, making it through the rest of the line without incident. Jacks punched Michael lightly on the back before going off to his own crew.

"Would it bother you overmuch to stop acting like everything in here is a joke?" Alex asked as they made their way to the back corner table.

"Didn't realize I was."

"Then what the hell was that?"

"It was funny." Michael set his tray down. Looked at Alex. "Oh, come on. That was funny. You shoving stuff down my mouth? Priceless." His smile was pure charm.

Alex didn't respond. He simply sat down and tucked into his meal.

"I hate my nickname," Michael said. He scooped up a forkful of eggs. Dropped it again. "I mean, come on. Blueprints? Only bad can come of it."

"I'm called FBI. I win the bad nickname lottery."

"It's gonna get shortened. Blue. Prints. Whatever." He stabbed his eggs listlessly. "Don't see why people can't just call me by my name."

"Do you ever stop whining?"

Michael coughed. Put his fork down to drink some water. After he'd swallowed, he said, "At least so far it's been uniform. Back at Fox River, I was Fish, Pretty, and Snowflake, depending on who you talked to. Only thing remotely close to being a universal moniker was Fish, and that really shouldn't count. I think, technically, when the next group of cons showed up, I wasn't a fish anymore. And yet, it persisted." He sighed. Wrinkled his nose at his plate. "I can't eat this." Lifting the plate, he dumped all the eggs on Alex's. Then he rested his head on the table.

Alex sighed. He reached out and put the back of his hand against Michael's cheek, checking his temperature. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," came the peevish answer. "I'm fine."

"Michael..."

"Hey, Alex."

Alex looked up. Randall and O'Connell were taking their seats across from Alex. He hadn't even realized they'd been absent the night before.

"Hey, guys." He realized his hand was still on Michael's cheek and pulled it away. "Michael, this is Randall and O'Connell. Friends of mine." Which was as true as things got in here. Oh, he liked the men all right, but if he'd met them on the outside, he wouldn't give them the time of day.

Career cons, the both of them, Randall was doing a fifteen year stint for armed robbery and O'Connell was on a ten year stretch for misdemeanor manslaughter. O'Connell'd been on parole at the time of the incident and been driving home after robbing a connivance store when he'd rammed another vehicle off the rode. He'd tried to save the woman in the other car, but she'd died before an ambulance got there. As the story went, O'Connell had been so guilt stricken, he'd tried to plead guilty for murder, only placated when his lawyer had told him he'd serve time if he pleaded to a lesser charge and took the deal the DA was offering.

Truthfully, he and Michael would probably get on quite well, what with the self-sacrificing streak they both possessed.

Michael pried his head from the table. "Hey. Nice to meet you," he said, shaking their hands.

"You're the Fox River kid, right?" Randall said.

"Yeah."

"My cellmate has a total crush on you. Hasn't talked about anything else since you got here. You're an inspiration to him, kid."

"Because I broke out or because I broke in?"

Randall laughed. "The first. I think he's hoping you help him out. He's got a sick mom on the outside and has been trying to rabbit since he got here. Thought he was gonna wet himself when he found out you were here."

"And telling him I'm not planning on breaking out?"

"Will either break his heart or make no impact at all."

"Great." He glanced over at Alex's plate, eyes fastening longingly on the small bowl of oatmeal. When they'd passed it in the food line, Michael had wrinkled his nose, but now he was looking at it as if it were manna from heaven.

With a sigh, Alex pushed it over to him. "You are going to drive me insane, aren't you?"

Michael smiled at him sweetly. "Thank you," he said. He dug into the bowl happily.

"So," O'Connell said. "You two know each other?"

Randall nudged him. "Our man was the one chasing Fox River here."

"Oh, right." He frowned. "Why are you being so nice to him?"

"Who you talking to?" Michael asked around a mouthful of oatmeal.

"Either one."

Alex shrugged. "It wasn't personal."

"So now you're best buds?"

"Where else am I going to find intelligent conversation in this dump?"

Randall laughed. "You're such an ass, Alex."

"Hey, Michael."

Alex stiffened as Ricky squeezed himself next to Michael.

Michael swallowed. "Ricky. Hi."

Ricky was grinning like a fucking fool. Leaning into Michael's personal space, hair coiffed and perfect, face young and handsome. Goddamn fucker.

"Are you feeling any better this morning?" he asked, completely ignoring everyone else at the table. "You look better."

"I am. Got a good night's sleep." Underneath the table, Michael put his hand on Alex's leg and squeezed.

"Good. I'm glad." Ricky leaned impossibly closer. Put his hand on Michael's arm. "Did you get a chance to think about our offer? Protection and all?"

"Ricky..."

"You won't have to, you know. Put out or anything. We're not like that." Slowly, he caressed Michael's arm. "They're not like. And I'd never, you know. Not if you were under our protection."

Carefully, Michael pulled his arm away. "Thanks, Ricky, really. I appreciate it. But I think I'll stay where I am and take my chances."

"But... We're the mob, Michael. Don't you understand what kind of protection just being seen with us offers? When you're with us, you're family. We take care of our own."

"I know. I was safe from a lot of shit because I was under John's protection back at Fox River. But that was then. I'd like to be friends. But I'm not transferring cells."

Ricky's face fell. "But..."

"I'm sorry." And he sounded sorry, but that wasn't going to do any good. Michael had just said no to a mobster in front of three other men.

This was not going to end well.

"Fine," Ricky said. "You wanna play stupid, play stupid. See if I give a flying fuck, you fucking asshole."

"Ricky..."

"Shut the fuck up, Blueprints. Your nothing, you hear me? Nothing." With that, he got up and stormed away.

"Fuck." Michael's head hit the table again.

Alex covered Michaels's hand with his own.

Randall cleared his throat. "You know, Alex here has no people skills either. First week here, Richards, who was released about three months ago, takes a shine to Alex. Offers protection for the usual, which our boy needs considering the COs are all sweet on him. Alex manages to turn Richards down so bad the man spends the rest of his time making Alex's life living hell."

"All I said was 'no thank you.'"

"You sure as hell said something that pissed him off more than that," O'Connell said. "Boy went and dressed you out the next day!"

"Dressed out?" Michael said.

Shame drenched Alex, ever present when reminded of the incident no matter how many time he reminded himself it hadn't been his fault. "Threw shit and piss on me. I don't want to talk about it."

"Alex." The moron put his hand on Alex's back.

He pulled away. "I said I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay." Michael's voice was small, obviously hurt. He turned back to the oatmeal and started stirring.

There was silence. Then O'Connell cleared his throat. "So. Up for poker on the yard later?"

"Whatever," Alex replied.

Next to him, Michael sighed.

It wasn't Michael's fault, of course. It wasn't really even Randall's. The event had happened. It'd happened because Alex, like Michael, hadn't handled the situation properly. Of course, there never seemed to be a way to handle it right in prison. If someone wanted you, you either punked up or waited until you were turned out. Saying no wasn't an option.

Breakfast over, they went back to their cells. Again, Alex noticed people looking at Michael. A few came over and asked if he really escaped from Fox River. When he said yes, they got this look in their eyes, and Alex knew Michael would be besieged by people looking for the story on the yard and the block.

It was good. The more Michael was respected, the less vulnerable he was to attack. He might just be able to ride out the notoriety until McNab and the Italian Mafia found something new.

Maybe.

The doors were locked for the cons to clean their cells and have some down time. Michael lowered the sheet as soon as they were inside.

"Alex..."

Alex turned, arms crossed over his chest. "I still don't want to talk about it."

"I know." Michael backed Alex against the wall. Pressed their bodies together. "I know."

His heart started to pound wildly as Michael's lips found his. Pressed against his, almost chastely. Then again, mouth open. Tongue probed softly at Alex's, traced his bottom lip, licking it as if it were a treat. And again, hotter. Wetter, until he gave, opening his mouth.

Michael's kiss was hungry. Hands slipped under Alex's shirt as his mouth seemed to feed from Alex's own. Soft gasps, near whimpers tumbled from those lips when their mouths parted, little squeaks as he dived back in for another kiss.

Alex couldn't think. Didn't want to think. Didn't want to acknowledge that this was stolen time. This could never be real, never be acknowledged because the minute they stepped out from the safety of these bars, this had to be hidden. Out in gen pop, Alex was nothing more than a sent up lawman whom the bulls had taken a shine too, and Michael...

Michael was a pretty piece of meat whose reputation may or may not be enough to protect him.

But here, none of that mattered. Here, they could carve a space in the world just for them.

So he kissed Michael. Framed his face between his hands and kissed. Swallowed the gasps and the squeaks and kisses and the touches, each saying the same thing:

 _I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to go through this. I'm here. I'm here, and you'll never be alone again. From now on, things will be different. I'm here now and I'm yours._


	4. Chapter 4

"I began to realize that no matter what I did, I'd never be able to memorize everything I needed to know," Michael said to today's group of admirers. "In order to remember the path to get out, I'd have to walk the floor myself, commit it not just to my mind, but sense memory as well. So, either I had to get there myself or... or I needed a map."

"So that's when you came up with the idea for the tat, right?" someone asked.

"No," Alex said softly as he studied the checkerboard. "First I despaired."

"No," answered Michael. He shook his head. "First, I despaired."

Randall and O'Connell snickered. Like Alex, they'd heard the story about five or six times in the past few days. They'd been enthralled the first time through, even interested the second time. By now, they could recite it as well as Michael could himself.

Of course, that didn't stop Jacks or Sammy, Randall's cellmate, from hearing it again. They were, Alex assumed, the first two disciples in the Church of Michael. They followed him everywhere, hung on his every word, and acted as bodyguards when Alex wasn't around. Which was almost never, but at least Alex didn't have to bare the brunt of it alone.

"I drilled for days, trying to do the impossible," Michael continued. "I hardly ate. Barely slept. Gave up my life to learn every detail, even though, by now, it couldn't be done. Finally, I broke down and ate. Ordered pizza. The person who arrived had intricate tattoos all along their arms. Seeing that, I got an idea."

"So, you didn't just watch 'Memento' and steal the idea from there?" Alex asked.

Michael glared at him. "Seriously. Every time?"

Alex moved his checker, jumping one of Randall's. "Every time."

He sighed. Rolled his eyes. "Anyway, as I was saying, I realized I could put everything I needed to remember in a tattoo. The blueprints of the prison. The size of the bolt needed to unscrew the toilet in my cell. The names of the streets I'd need to use to get out of the cell. Plus, I could encode everything I needed for after. I didn't have to remember anything but what the mnemonics stood for."

"Mnemonics?" another con asked.

"It's something that helps you remember stuff," Sammy said. "Like, 'my very educated mother just served us pizza.' to remember the planets."

Jacks hit him on the back of his head. "Pluto ain't a planet no more. And you left out Neptune. But that's the idea."

"I started drawing that night," Michael said. "First, I copied the blueprints onto a paper. Then, I overlaid it with tracing paper. I chose a theme--war between good and evil--and started drawing."

"Can I see?" someone asked eagerly.

Alex's head snapped up and he turned, ready to defend Michael if the speaker got too eager.

Michael put his hand on Alex's arm and shook his head. "Sorry, Martin, but no. Not on the yard, at least."

Martin had the decency to look embarrassed. "Oh, right, man. Well, if you catch me staring in the showers sometime, don't, uh, think nothing about it, 'k?" His eyes slid to Alex. "I've seen some pictures, right? And it's pretty cool."

"I understand. And maybe sometime there will be a moment for you to see it. I could also replicate the drawings, if you want?"

"Not really the same, right?"

"No," Sammy said confidently, as if he had any clue. "It's not."

Everyone looked at him for a moment then turned back to Michael.

"What happened next?"

Michael shrugged. "I finished the drawing. Made sure it was accurate. Then, as I started getting it inked, I went about putting..."

"Mahone!" a CO shouted. "Visitors!"

Shit.

Alex rose from the benches. Glanced at Michael, hand closing around the collar of his shirt. "Come on."

"I can't go with you."

"You can go back to the cell. Or at least somewhere Ricky and the gang isn't and guards are."

"Like I can trust the guards any more."

"We've got his back, Alex," Randall said.

Jacks rose, punching his fist into the palm of his hand. "Anyway tries to mess with our boy Prints here, they got another coming. Don't worry, FBI."

Michael's look was eloquent. Alex just smirked and pat him on the shoulder. "Not one scratch or you will pay," he said.

"Mahone!"

"Coming, boss." He pulled his hand from Michael and left.

As he did, he heard Jacks say, "So, what's the deal anyway, Blueprints? You giving him rides? Because you don't need to do that. We got your back for free. Really."

"No, I'm not. He's just protective. A friend."

If he said more, Alex didn't hear. He was too far away.

The CO led him through the empty cell block, through the halls and to the visitor's area. "Anything they give you goes through inspection. Behave in there."

"Of course."

The door unlocked and Alex was let into the room.

"Daddy!" Cameron stood on the chair, his orange stuffed fish tucked securely under his armpit as always. The other was outstretched, little fingers reaching for him, body leaning dangerously far. He would have fallen had Pam not have a tight grip around his waist.

"Cameron!" He was across the room in less than three steps. He caught Cameron in his arms, lifted him off the chair. Hugged him tightly and peppered his face with kisses. "How's my boy?"

Cameron kissed him back, wet, sloppy, child kisses, enthusiastic and happy as always. "Good, Daddy. My teacher said that I'm the best reader in class. I'm in the purple group!"

"Purple group! That's fantastic." He kissed Cameron on the cheek again, then turned to Pam. "Hey, you."

She smiled. "Hey." She came in and kissed him lightly on the lips. "How's life treating you?"

He shrugged. "Can't complain." He kissed her again, hand on her neck. This close, he couldn't help smelling her. Her hair, her perfume, her skin. All the smells of home and love and safety.

It was always so hard to let go.

Cameron started squirming. "Daddy! I drew you something. Come on." He squirmed until Alex set him on the floor. Then, carefully tucking the fish securely under his arm, Cameron limped to the table and climbed onto the chair.

Alex and Pam smiled at each other and joined Cameron.

"This is me and Nemo at the park," Cameron said. He pushed a colorful picture over to Alex. "This is the slide. And this is the swings. Nemo doesn't like the swings because the go high, but I like them and tell him to be brave. So he is. And I don't go on the slide sometimes because it's hard to climb, but Mommy sometimes helps me get to the top and I go and I go fast!"

"Really? Fast?"

He nodded. "Like flying. Daddy, did you know ten plus seven is seventeen?"

"No, I didn't."

Cameron squinted his eyes and cocked his head. "You really didn't know that?"

"Why don't you show me how?"

"Mommy? Can I haved a pencil?"

Pam dug through her purse. "Actually, I brought your crayons, little Nemo. And some paper. Show Daddy how to make seventeen." She pulled the paper and crayons and set them on the table.

"Apples or oranges?" Cameron asked as he opened the box of crayons.

He glanced at Pam, who just shrugged, smiling. "Apples?"

"Okay." He pulled a red crayon from the box. "I hab ten apples," he said. He carefully started drawing red circles on the paper.

As Alex leaned over his son, feeling the baby-fine hair against his cheek, rubbing the soft child skin of his arm, he saw from the corner of his eye someone familiar enter. He glanced up to get a better look.

Lincoln Burrows and his son, LJ.

Huh. This might be interesting.

Still. He only had a few hours with his son and he wasn't going to waste them wondering about the Burrows family.

"One, two, three," Cameron counted the red dots. "Nine. Ten. Okay. I hab ten apples. And you give me seven more." Tongue sticking between his lips, he began to draw the next seven red dots.

There was a buzz and the door opened again. Alex glanced back.

"What the fuck happened?" he demanded, shooting up.

Michael blanched. Closed his eyes briefly. "It's fine," he said.

"No, it's not. What happened?" He stormed across room.

The entire left side of Michael's face was bright red. Alex could see small indentations, indicating that he'd been shoved against a stucco wall, probably on the yard. There was a cut at the corner of his mouth that hadn't been there before, and he was walking with a limp.

"What's going on?" Lincoln said, coming up alongside of Alex.

"Mahone, is this gonna be a problem?" a CO asked, coming off the wall.

He pointed at Michael. "This may be. He wasn't like this when I left. He was fine. What happened?"

Michael grabbed his arm and forced it down. "It was nothing. A scuffle. I was called in, the guard asked me to wait while he dealt with a fight breaking out. Ricky took advantage and pushed me against the wall. That's all, Alex. Let it go." His eyes pleaded.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This was not the time nor the place. "Fine." He released Michael's hand and stepped back.

He was rewarded with a smile. "Thank you." Then he turned to Lincoln. "Linc."

"Hey, Mikey." Lincoln glanced at Alex, then grabbed his brother, pulling him into a fierce hug. "How you doing?"

"Good. I'm fine. LJ! Hey."

"Hey, Uncle Mike." LJ hung back for a moment, then hugged his uncle.

Pam put her hand on Alex's shoulder. "Alex?"

"Sorry. Sorry, Pam." He bent down and picked up Cameron. "Sorry, buddy. Didn't mean to scare you. This is Daddy's new cellmate, Michael Scofield. Michael, this is my son."

Michael smiled and took Cameron's hand. "Hey, Cameron."

"Hi." He shyly buried his face in Alex's neck.

"And I think you know Pam."

Michael blushed. "Yeah, uh. Hi. Again."

Pam smiled, looking no less awkward than did Michael. "Nice to see you again, Agent Merrick."

He blushed harder. Cleared his throat. "Well, uh. I'll let you get back. To visiting."

"Yeah, you too." Alex turned and went back to his family's table. "Okay, Cam. You were showing me how to add?"

But Cameron was too overcome by shyness and wouldn't pull his face away.

"Sorry," Alex said.

Pam shook her head and glanced at the Scofield-Burrows. "It's okay. So. What happened to Travis?"

"Oh, I didn't tell you? He was transferred to the psych ward. He was having nightmares every night. Night terrors, actually, I think one of the doctors called them. He wouldn't even wake up during them. Didn't remember them when they were over. He needed more than he could get in Gen Pop, so they moved him about a week ago. Couple days later, Michael was moved in."

"To your cell."

He nodded. "Honestly, I think the warden thought I might be able to protect him. Some of the guards are a bit... unhappy with the stunt he pulled at Fox River. They're rather inclined to give him a hard time. I guess that since I'm in pretty good standing with the COs already, plus have a history of protecting my cellmate, I could do the same for him."

Her eyebrows arched. "Do you want to?"

Alex hesitated. Wondered how much to tell her. Finally nodded. "I do. He's a good man, Pam, underneath it all. Perhaps a little Machiavellian, but I can relate to that."

"I suppose."

"We get along well," he said. "Really. Have a lot of common interests. It's good, Pam."

She looked over at them. LJ was slumped against the table, looking miserable and depressed. Michael and Lincoln were talking, Michael completely animated and happy. Lincoln looked... pleased. Happy to find his brother in one piece. Happy to be with his brother.

"So." Alex turned back to Pam. "What's new in your life?"

Two hours passed much too quickly. Cameron got over his shyness and finished showing Alex how to add. He also read from 'Goodnight Moon,' and 'Green Eggs and Ham' and listened to Alex read 'If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.' He and Pam caught up on her life and friends and trials.

Near the end, she brought up moving again.

"You don't have to," Alex told her automatically.

"Alex. It's too hard for me and Cam to fly out here once a month. Too hard and too expensive. It makes more sense for us to live out here."

"You don't need to come as often as you do."

She put her hand on his arm. Squeezed.

Alex sighed. Rubbed his forehead. "Okay."

"Mahone. Time's up."

It was too hard. Too hard to hand his son back to Pam. To kiss that tiny face and know that when he next saw him, Cameron would be a whole month older. He would probably be adding ten and ten. Reading 'If You Give a Mouse a Cookie' all by himself. Maybe he wouldn't even have the fish.

Thirty days. Thirty days older. Thirty days of experience that Alex had to miss out on.

Throat tight, eyes stinging, Alex kissed Cameron. Held him tight. "You be good, Cam. Be good for Mommy. Draw me lots of pictures."

"Don't go, Daddy," Cameron whined. "Please." His tiny arms squeezed Alex's neck.

"I have to, little man. But we'll talk soon. I'll call. I promise."

"Noooo!"

Pam carefully unwound Cameron's arms from Alex's neck. Kissed him. "I'll talk to you later. Be safe."

He kissed her back, then Cameron again. "I love you both." Quickly, before he absolutely couldn't leave, he gathered up the drawings and papers Cameron had brought and left.

* * *

Lincoln watched as Mahone said good-bye to his wife and child. "Poor bastard," he said. He knew from experience that leaving your child behind was the worst thing you could go through. Especially when they were young like that and couldn't understand.

"Yeah," Michael said, good mood gone. He slumped over the table, mouth down turned, eyes inward. After a minute, he said, "Look. My time's almost up anyway. Do you mind..."

"You really like the guy, don't you?"

He looked up. "Yeah. I do."

"You sweet on him?"

Michael blushed. "A little."

"You're gay?" LJ said, the first thing he'd said in awhile.

Lincoln would never figure out how Michael managed to turn that color red. And it wasn't the first time he'd reached this shade of magenta.

"Um, yeah. Well, I guess bi. Does that bother you?"

Not much bothered LJ these days, at least not that he'd admit to. Michael got a half shoulder shrug and a mumbled, "It's cool. Whatever."

Across the room, Cameron still sobbed inconsolably into his stuffed fish. The woman, Pam, was gathering up her belongings.

"Go," Lincoln said. He rose. "We'll be back later this month, okay?"

Michael rose. "Thank you." He hugged Lincoln tightly, then LJ, who even deigned to hug him back.

"Be careful in there!" Lincoln ordered.

"I will." He flashed them a smile, then practically ran back into the prison.

"We going?" LJ asked.

"In a minute." Lincoln straightened his shirt and crossed over to Pam. "Um. Hi. I'm Lincoln," he said, holding out his hand.

Pam had Cameron under one arm, hitched on her hip. She hesitated a moment, juggling everything, then shook his hand. "Pam. Nice to meet you."

"You too. I, uh. I guess your husband has been taking care of my brother. I really appreciate that."

"Ex-husband," she corrected. "And, yeah. It's, well. It's what he does." She smiled an embarrassed sort of smile.

Cameron sniffed and rubbed his nose on the stuffed fish. His eyes were huge and watery as they looked up at Lincoln.

Lincoln leaned over. "Hey, buddy. What's wrong?"

"D-daddy. He goed away." He stuck his thumb into his mouth.

"Yeah, I saw that. But did you see the man with me?"

He nodded.

"That was my brother, Michael. And Michael shares the same room with your daddy. I promise that he's going to be good company for you dad. He'll take care of him."

"But I wan' him," Cameron said around his thumb.

"I know." He wiped a tear off the small, chubby cheek. "And I want my brother." He glanced at Pam and mouthed something.

She blinked, then nodded, smiling.

"Cameron, you know, I'm sad, too. Do you know what makes me feel better when I'm sad?"

He shook his head.

"Ice cream. LJ, that's my son. LJ and I are going for ice cream. Do you want to come with us?"

Cameron inhaled sharply. Looked at Pam.

"Sounds good to me," she said. "Do you want to go?"

He nodded.

"What do you say?"

"Thank you," Cameron said obediently.

Lincoln smiled at him and nodded. "You're welcome. Let's go."

* * *

Alex was in the cell, sheet lowered when Michael got back. Cameron's pictures were on the wall next to the bed and the man himself was lying on his side, looking at them.

Michael took off his shoes and climbed onto the top bunk. Without saying anything, he spooned behind Alex. Kissed his neck softly and wound his arms around him.

Alex sighed. Covered Michael's hand with his, interlacing their fingers.

Neither man said a word.


	5. Chapter 5

Cameron's shriek danced over the air, spreading out from the swing set and over the vast grassy expanse of the park. "Higher, LJ!" he called, little legs pumping furiously. "Go higher!"

"I'm going as high as I can," LJ said as he pumped his legs. His swing still only managed to get up about half as high as Cameron's, which the kid had managed, with LJ's help before he took his own swing, to reach almost frightening heights. "You're just too good for me!"

The little boy's laughter rang out delightedly.

On the bench next to him, Pam smiled. "Thank you, Lincoln," she said. "Usually after we leave Alex, he's in tears for the rest of the night. And even after he calms down, he has nightmares."

"About what?" Lincoln asked. Surely the kid couldn't be dreaming about what would happen to his father in prison. He was too young.

"Monsters. Being abandoned. Being alone. The usual kid nightmares," she replied, looking at him. "He dreams of the hospital a lot. Gets it confused with the prison."

"Hospital?"

"He's spent a lot of time in them. When he gets upset, he dreams he's trapped in one. Or, lately, that Daddy is trapped and hurt."

He frowned. "Is he sick?"

"He was hit by a car last year. His right leg was broken in two places. He was in traction for weeks, unable to move, unable to do anything. It was so hard on him."

Oh, right. He'd noticed Cameron limping as they left the ice cream parlor. Even picked him up when he seemed to be getting tired. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "Thank you. It's okay, really. He's pretty much fine now."

"I see that." He shook his head. "Traction, though. Sounds bad."

"It was. His leg was broken along the growth plate. He had to have surgery to restore the joint surface. And he has something in his leg to keep it aligned when he grows. As long as nothing moves, he should grow normally." She raised her hand, fingers crossed.

"God. What hell. And now your husband is in prison?"

"Yeah. Well. It's almost better that he's in prison than before. He's been so completely lost to me the past few years. After the whole thing with Shales. And I never knew why any of it happened. The divorce and the complete alienation from him. He was like a different person. Now?" She smiled. "Now it's almost like I have my Alex back. Even though I only get to see him once a month and when we tried to give our marriage another shot, it didn't work."

"I'm, uh. Sorry," he said uncomfortably. Truth was, it was better this way, at least for Michael. Lincoln hated to think of his little brother in jail all alone, left to fend for himself. At least with Mahone there, someone was looking out for him. Lincoln wouldn't have believed it had Michael tried to tell him that, but he'd seen it in action. The minute Michael had walked into the visitor room, so obviously roughed up, Mahone had been out of his seat, over at Michael, ready to take down whoever had done it.

Now, yes, Lincoln knew how things could work in prison. But, he highly doubted that a man like Mahone, who'd seemed mostly decent except for the whole being blackmailed by the company into being a killer, would get alpha on his punk in front of his wife and son.

Which meant he genuinely cared about what happened to Michael. And he'd look out for him. Which meant Lincoln didn't have to stay up nights, worrying about Mikey and wondering if he'd done the right thing by letting him turn himself in. Worrying that something horrible was happening to him. Now he could--sort of--relax.

"You really fly out from Colorado once a month?"

She nodded. "I'm planning on moving here, though. Probably early summer, so Cam can finish school. But it will be easier on us. I really want Cameron to have a relationship with his father, and he has to see him more than once every few months. I'd like to come and visit Alex every couple weeks. I that would be best for both of them."

"What about you?"

"I enjoy seeing Alex. And I love seeing them together. Visiting him is no problem. It's the travel to and from."

Lincoln nodded. Rubbed his head and glanced back out at LJ and Cameron. They'd abandoned the swings and were now on the plastic jungle gym, running back and forth across the bridge, sliding down the pole or the slide. Cameron's limp was much more noticeable now. LJ, his sour mood broken by ice cream and the total adoration of a six-year old, slowed his pace to match the kid's as best he could.

"You know," he said after a moment. "There's a house up for sale across the street from mine. It's a nice neighborhood, quiet, close to an elementary school. Good school district. I checked it out for LJ before I bought the house. Decent price range." He cleared his throat. "I know the owners. We could probably swing by today or tomorrow or something."

Pam studied him a moment, her eyes dark, unreadable. After a moment, she nodded slowly. "That sounds ... helpful," she said. "I honestly didn't know where to begin. I figured I'd just worry about it later. But I'd like to see the house."

Lincoln pulled his cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open. "When's good for you?"

"Um, well, Cameron's getting tired. Maybe I should take him back to the hotel. My flight leaves tomorrow at four, so sometime before then?"

"We could do that. Or," he said slowly, "we could take Cameron back to my house, LJ can watch him, and we can go tonight. That way it's less rushed."

She glanced out at the boys. LJ had Cameron on his back and was running back and fourth over the suspension bridge. Every few steps, he would bounce, bringing a delighted shriek from Cameron. "He seems like such a different kid here."

"Yeah, well. This one will disappear again and the other one will come back. He's got a lot of anger and some major mood swings lately. And he hates the prison."

"Why do you take him, then?"

"He says he wants to see his uncle." Lincoln shrugged. "Do you trust him to baby-sit?"

"If you say he's trustworthy. And we'll just be across the street, right?"

Lincoln nodded. "Right. LJ's really responsible, really."

Pam smiled. "All right, then. Let's see this house."

* * *

Michael opened his eyes.

The cell was dark. Shadows fell across his face, lines that fell over his eyes, his skin as a soft, faint light fell through the bars of the cell. Everything--the air, the light, the sounds the other inmates made in their sleep, even the steps of the guards--seemed subdued. Sleepy. Slumbering.

What woke him?

In the darkness, Michael strained to listen. His eyes narrowed out of reflex as he transferred his concentration to his hearing, stretching the sense out as far as he could.

There.

Again.

"Alex?" Michael climbed off his bunk. Stood on the bed to bring him over Alex's body. "Alex, you okay?"

The only response was a horrible, choked inhalation. A soft, phlegmy exhalation. A cough. Another inhalation that was so loud and rough, it made Michael's chest hurt.

"Alex." He put his hand on Alex's back. "Alex, wake up. Alex!"

He coughed. Choked. Took a few panicked breaths and coughed again.

Michael jumped off the bed. "I need a help!" he shouted. "I need someone here now!"

"Shut the fuck up!" someone shouted back.

"You shut up!" someone shouted back.

"Trying to sleep here, assholes!"

"Fuck you, prick!"

"Oh, you want to start something?"

"Any time, punk!"

"Who the fuck you calling punk, punk!"

"Hey! Shut up, cons," a CO yelled as he stormed onto the floor. "One more word from any of you and I'm throwing you into the SHU, got it?"

Silence fell.

"Boss," Michael called, waving his arm.

He came over. "Scofield. What?"

"Alex is sick. He's having trouble breathing."

Alex inhaled again, nosily. Painfully. Michael couldn't believe he'd been able to sleep through that in the first place.

"Shit," the guard swore. "I need open on eighteen! And get a gurney down here!"

The door buzzed. Michael stepped back as it slid open. His heart pounding, he watched as the guard jumped onto his bed, rolled Alex onto his back.

"Mahone, come on. Sit up," he said, urging Alex up.

Alex tried to obey, but was overcome by a fit of coughing. He fell back, breathing heavily. It didn't sound like he was getting much air at all.

He stayed pressed against the back wall, away from what was happening. The gurney was brought in, along with a nurse. Alex was helped off the bunk and onto the gurnery. Hooked up to oxygen and an IV as the nurse took his vitals.

Alex's eyes opened once during the whole ordeal. When they did, Michael moved along the wall until Alex could see him.

He looked scared. Whether he was scared for Michael or for himself, Michael couldn't tell.

He rubbed his hands together, pressing them tight to build up friction. Everything in him ached.

"Okay. Let's go," the nurse said. They raised the gurney and locked it into place.

Alex's eyes stayed on Michael's as he was rolled out of the cell. Until he rounded the corner and was taken from sight.

"Is he going to be okay?" Michael asked stupidly, still twisting his fingers.

The guard, Carl Kester, looked at him, annoyance on his face. He opened his mouth, but abruptly snapped it shut. Studied Michael a moment, head cocked. Finally said, "Don't know. Looked pretty bad to me, but I ain't a doctor."

"Can I see him?"

"What, now?"

"No, tomorrow. Or sometime. Just to make sure he's okay, you know?"

"It's not standard. 'Course, most cons don't necessarily want to see their cellie. But, then, Mahone was allowed to visit the kid when he was there. Guess we might be able to extend the same to you. Both seem pretty peaceful and all, though you might want to watch the sheet. You ain't Travis, Scofield."

Michael frowned. "What's that mean?"

"Travis with a punk from the moment he got here. Think he was turned out his first night, and probably every night until his cellie got a back door parole. When Mahone got here, first everyone assumed he was taking over. Then, everyone realized that Mahone didn't give a fuck what the sheet's supposed to mean and lowers it whenever the he wants privacy. But you and him are like glue, you know? Pretty soon, people are going to start thinking the two of you are kicking it in here."

"That a warning?"

Kester shrugged. "Take it as you want. It's your business. Your little story's got you some cred around here, which gives you followers, which gives you protection. However, you also got dangerous people after your ass. You don't want to give them ammunition."

Michael nodded. "I appreciate the advice. Boss." He licked his lips. "I know I'm not popular with the guards because of what I did, so I really thank you for it."

He shrugged again and said, "Yeah, well. Seems like most of the guards over at Fox River might have been on the wrong side of the bars. We have our trouble here, too, but we're not stupid. Don't try anything."

"I won't. I'm just here to do my time." He rubbed a hand over his head. "Can you... I'd really be in your debt if I even got just some information about Alex. How he's doing."

"I'll see what I can do. Now. Back to bed." Kester stepped out of the cell. "Close on eighteen!"

The bars slid shut and, for the first time since he'd arrived, Michael was alone.

* * *

"Hey," Jacks said, falling into pace next to Michael. "Where's your boy?"

Michael sighed. "Sick. He's in the infirmary. Having trouble breathing."

"Got your cold?"

"Yeah. Small space, you know."

Jack's gave him a lopsided smile. "McNab's got it, too. His cell is next to mine. Heard him hacking and wheezing all night. Came out with a red, drippy nose and eyes. Looks like shit, man."

"Serves him right for hassling me, I guess." He slid into the food line, blindly accepting whatever anyone put on his plate. "I'm worried about him."

"McNab?"

"Alex. It hit him hard. I mean, I know I was sick, but I could pretty much breathe. Alex sounded like he was barely getting air in." Michael sighed heavily, morosely pushing his tray. "I'm worried."

"He'll be fine. Come on. Eat with my crew today, 'k?"

"Sure." Michael followed Jacks, thoughts still inward.

"Hey, Blueprints. What's going on?"

"Hi Martinez. Guys." Michael sat next to Jacks, nodding at the head of the gang and the three other men in turn.

"FBI was sent to the infirmary last night, huh?" Martinez said. "You finally fight back?"

Michael rolled his eyes, picking up his fork. "Hardly. He'd not doing anything to me." Unfortunately, he added silently, but this wasn't the crowd.

"You know the dude's married? Or was married? Has a kid," Jacks said.

"He's FBI."

"Former FBI," Michael corrected. "And he's my friend."

"Even though he chased you?"

"Even though he chased me." Michael stabbed at his eggs, then pushed them away. Dropping his fork, he raised his hands over his head, rubbing his hair. "Hey, Jacks. Mind coming with me to the barber later? I need to get rid of all this." He didn't want to. He liked his hair longer. Like the way it looked. More than that, he liked the way Alex twisted locks around his fingers while they kissed. Combed through it when they lay together. Nuzzled against it when he wanted Michael to turn over so they could kiss some more.

But it was dangerous. An unusual shade of black, especially since he was so pale. It was attractive. To predators. He couldn't afford it.

"Yeah, no problem," Jacks said.

Martinez cleared his throat.

"What?" Jacks snapped.

"It's just he's not really part of our crew, Jacks."

"So? That mean I can't be his friend?"

Martinez shook his head. "That's not what I'm saying. But you shouldn't get messed up with his trouble, 'cause it'll mess you up. McNab and the mob. Those are some pretty heavy enemies. I don't want us to get messed up with them."

"Look," Jacks started angrily, but Michael interrupted.

"What would it take to get temporary protection?" he asked, looking at Martinez.

Martinez sat back. Crossed his arms over his chest, tilted his head. He glanced at the man on his left, who gave a small shake.

"A lot," he finally said. "It's not that I've got anything against you. Hell, I hate McNab and ain't got no use for Ricky and his gang. And if it was just McNab, I'd consider it. He's an ass and his followers are asses, but they're not the mob, you know?"

"I know."

"I just don't see what you'd have to offer that make that kind of trouble worth it."

"I understand that. I wouldn't want to bring trouble your crew." He glanced over to the mafia, where Ricky was looking decidedly under the weather. He kept wiping his nose and coughing into his sleeve.

Michael turned back to Martinez. "What if it was just against McNab?" he asked. "The mafia's more likely to come at me sideways, when no one's expecting. McNab's less subtle. He'll come at me on the yard, or the showers. Or at any time he thinks he might be able to get me alone, away from everyone. But it'll be brute force. I'm not so good at brute force. I could use some help there."

Martinez leaned forward. "Just McNab, huh?"

He nodded, saying, "And it'd probably be more of letting me hang with your crew, be by you guys. Safety in numbers. You probably won't have to do anything to defend me. And I'll deal with the mob myself." He leaned forward. "So. What will it take?"

The other man considered him silently for a long moment, then shrugged. "Got any stamps yet?"

"Uh, my brother put money into my account. I haven't gotten to the commissary yet, but, yeah, I have some. How many do you want?"

"I'm planning on getting a CD player. Could use about twenty more stamps to afford it."

Michael sighed internally. Twenty stamps at five dollars a stamp. Doable. Linc had put two hundred dollars into his account, and was going to keep putting money in every month, so money wasn't the problem. It was just he situation; it could backfire way too easily. He didn't want to be in a position of submission, having to ask for protection from anyone. That's what made the situation with Alex such a stroke of luck. He was willing to protect Michael for free. And he wanted Michael, genuinely want him, not in a predatory way. It made things much easier for him.

 

Now, though, he was alone. And while Jacks, Sammy, Randall and O'Connell were good guys, they weren't exactly the people you went to for protection. Jacks was a fighter, yes, but not on the level of McNab or Ricky and his gang. He needed a gang of his own. Or at least the protection of one.

"I'll be able to go to the commissary day after next. I'll get you the stamps then."

"Then we have a deal." Martinez extended his hand.

Michael shook and tried not to worry that he was getting himself into something he'd regret.


	6. Chapter 6

"You've lost too much weight," Dr. Parsons said, looking at Alex's chart. "Ten pounds in three months. And you couldn't afford to lose that, since you were pretty thin to begin with."

Alex shrugged. "Didn't mean to." He coughed. Took as deep of breath as he could. "Been eating."

"Not enough." He clicked the top of his pen. "I'm going to put you on a diet until you gain the weight back once your better." He began scribbling.

"Fine." He closed his eyes. Everything hurt. His chest. His back. His head. The oxygen only helped so much because he was so congested. Breathing took a lot of concentration and effort.

Damn Michael and his stupid cold.

"I've put you on albuterol. Make sure you take two puffs of the inhaler every two hours. You know how to use it?"

Alex nodded. Forced his eyes open.

The doctor was holding out the inhaler. "Shake it first, then exhale all the air. Stick it in your mouth and push down, breathing in."

"I know how to work it," he said, annoyed. He took the inhaler and did as the doctor said.

"Make sure you hold your breath after inhaling for a few seconds. Give it time to work."

He held his breath until it was unbearable. Coughed as he exhaled.

"Good. Now wait a minute and take your second puff. I'm going to give you an expectorant, so expect to be coughing up phlegm for the next few hours. Around six you'll get some NiteQuil so you can sleep tonight. Make sure you drink plenty of water and orange juice. Get as much sleep as possible."

He coughed again and took his second puff. After he exhaled, he said, "My cellmate wasn't this sick. Why am I?"

"Your cellmate's Scofield?"

"Yeah."

"He's younger. He's currently in better health. He hasn't lost a lot of weight recently, nor getting into fights on an almost weekly basis. Plus, he's a different person, so he reacts to things differently. No two people will respond to a virus in the exact same way, Alex. It's that simple." He handed Alex a small cup of thick, syrupy liquid.

Nose wrinkled, he drank the noxious liquid down. Grabbed his water to wash it down. "Will I be able to see him?"

"Him who?"

"My cellmate. I need to make sure he's okay."

Parsons sighed. Pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down. "Alex," he said, voice earnest. "You need to stop. You can't be everyone's savior here. You have to start taking care of yourself. Looking out for yourself. It's great what you did for Travis, but you don't need to protect everyone. And right now, especially, you need to concentrate on beating this cold. Not stressing about someone else who probably doesn't give a damn about you."

Just go ahead and voice every insecurity I have, why don't you, Alex thought bitterly. Ever since they'd first kissed, first spent the night in each other's arm, he couldn't help wonder if this was all an act on Michael's part. A guise to get protection from Alex by using Alex's weakness against him. He knew Michael, after all. Michael wasn't afraid to use others in order to get what he needed. Right now, he needed protection. And he knew Alex was willing to give it to him.

On the other hand, Alex would protect Michael for free. He was pretty sure he'd made that clear. Michael didn't need to use him, which meant that, well. Maybe he wasn't.

"He's a friend," Alex finally said, voice graveled.

Parsons looked unconvinced, but let it slide. Instead, he said, "We've talked about this before. I know your counselor has talked to you about it too. Prison isn't like the rest of the world. You can't take on everyone else's problems in here. You have to look out for yourself. Do your own time. Not his. Yours."

"I'm not." He swallowed. "Not doing his time. Watching a friend's back. That's all." He coughed.

"The fact that one of the first things you've talked about is him suggests otherwise." Then, Parsons frowned. Tilted his head. "Unless... unless there's something else going on."

Alex kept his face impassive. Met Parsons's questioning gaze squarely, trying not to give anything away.

He sighed. "Whatever is going on between the two of you, be careful. In every way. Keep your head down, do your time, stop getting in fights. And really think about what you want in life. Your kind of on hold here right now. Time to think. To decide and make decisions. When you get out of here, what do you want to do with your life?"

"Thanks, Doc," Alex said, wanting the man to shut the hell up. "I'll think about what you said."

"I hope so. Now, rest. I'll be around in a few hours."

"Okay." Alex picked up the glass of water next to him and took a sip. When he lay back down, he closed his eyes again.

What did he want to do with his life? What kind of fucking joke was that? For the next ten years to fifteen years, he didn't have a life. His life would consist of routine and more routine. Up at seven for count. Breakfast. Back to the cell. Three days a week he'd have janitorial duty, usually in the infirmary and the restrooms in the east wing. Library time. Commissary. Anger management and relaxation classes. Fights in the yard and showers over Michael or just for being ex-FBI. Sleep, lethargy, depression, boredom. Lunch, dinner, count, lockdowns, endless nights, more boredom.

A lot of rape happened in prison for power issues, dominance. Consensual sex went on, too, of course. Late night fumbling between cellmates, mutual agreed upon meetings in whatever hidden space people could find. The more brazen, the queens and such, those who came looking for a daddy for protection or just to make time pass quicker. Most, though, hid what they were doing. Alex never failed to find it ironic that a place notorious for male rape, those who enjoyed sex with men were persecuted mercilessly. Healthy expressions of physical pleasure were looked down upon simply because so many of the men in here were complete homophobes.

What did he want with his life? He wanted out. He wanted freedom. To live somewhere quiet, without stress. To see his son grow up. Graduated from kindergarten, high school, college. He wanted to find something to do with his life he found as fulfilling as being an FBI agent had.

He wanted love. He loved Pam, always would, but that door had closed. Because of his actions, he'd slammed it shut and nailed it forever closed. They could love each other all they wanted now, it wasn't going to work.

He wanted love.

Men had never been part of his sexuality before. Not really. Yes, there'd been the occasional fantasy, the male faces and bodies that crept into his dreams, his masturbatory sessions. In the service, he'd come across a few men that'd made his heart skip a beat. Whom he'd worshipped, hung onto their every word. Same in the FBI. But he'd never really recognized it for what it was. Not as sexual attraction, but as admiration and awe.

Michael had, of course, been the worse. Obsession that bordered on stalkerish behavior. Alex had requisitioned the file the psychologist had on Michael. His medical records. Report cards. Work reviews. Anything he could find to unwrap the puzzle that was Michael Scofield. He dreamed about finding him. About pinning him to the wall. Patting him down. Placing him in cuffs. Feeling his hot breath against Alex's neck, his face. The purr of a voice in his ear.

And yet, until the showers, Alex had never put it together. Never realize what he really wanted.

What did he want out of life?

He wanted to know his mind. To not be taken by surprise by himself anymore. To be able to control the rage that sometimes overcame him, taking away his control, his sense. The extreme nervousness. The panic. The dark, fathomless depression.

To become a man his son could be proud of.

He wanted a lot. He wanted nothing. He wanted the impossible. He wanted....

He wanted Michael.

The expectorant began to do its job. For the next hour or so, Alex hacked and coughed in the quiet infirmary. The nurse came in and out, plying him with liquids, plumping pillows and straightening blankets, doing what he could to make Alex more comfortable.

His nose grew sore from the constant wiping. His chest burned. Throat ached. Head, neck, back all screamed in agony. He was given a pain killer. Heating pads.

The doctor came back. Checked him again, discovered he was running a fever. Oxygenigating poorly. He was giving a breathing treatment. More oxygen. Told to sleep.

He did, fitful and uncomfortable.

Time lost meaning. There was just now and now was agony. Until...

"Alex."

He was shaken gently.

"Alex," his name was whispered again.

He opened his eyes.

Michael was leaning over his bed. In his hand he held a stick. A mop. He was dressed in a janitorial coverall, hair newly shorn, eyes bright with concern and worry.

"Michael," Alex whispered.

Michael's face broken into a smile. "Hi." He bent over and kissed Alex. Once. Twice. Again, and Alex gripped the back of Michael's neck, holding him down, unwilling to let him go.

Finally, Michael pulled away. "I've been worried," he said, breathless. "You sounded so bad last night."

"I'm fine. Just sick. And old."

Michael snorted. "Hardly old." He kissed Alex again.

"Your hair," Alex said stupidly. He trailed his fingers over the short, spiky-silk strands.

"I had to. You know that. I'm too much of a target otherwise."

"I know." Alex sighed. "I'm worried about you."

He shook his head. "Don't be. I've got everything covered. I'll be fine. You just concentrate on getting better."

"Now you sound like my doctor." He rubbed Michael's hair morosely. "So, you're working janitorial?"

"Yeah. Infirmary, east wing bathrooms, the floor. You?"

"Same. I guess we'll be together, then."

"Hope you don't get sick of me," Michael said with a crooked smile.

He shook his head. "Never."

"Scofield! Keep it moving," a CO said from the door.

He pulled away quickly. "Yes, boss." He started pushing the mop around the floor in strong figure eights.

The CO stood in the door a few seconds, watching Michael. Then he moved away, calling another con's name.

Michael kept mopping. "Did the doctor say anything? About how long you'll be here?"

"No. Not for a few days, I think."

"Are you breathing any better?"

Alex shrugged. "I coughed up half a lung earlier. And got a breathing treatment. So a bit." He cleared his throat. "How are things for you? Anyone giving you any trouble?"

He shook his head. "No. McNab and Ricky are both sick. I'm hanging with Jacks's crew for right now, mostly. Just in case."

He frowned. "And they don't have a problem with this?"

"No."

There was a tone in his voice. One that Alex didn't quite trust.

"What are they asking of you?"

"Alex, seriously..."

"Tell me."

Michael sighed. Stopped mopping and leaned against the mop. "Commissary stamps. I have plenty of money, so it's no problem. I'm also going to ask Linc to put in some more, just in case. We didn't want to have too much in at one time to avoid trouble with the guards."

"How many?"

"Alex..."

He pushed himself up. "How many?"

Michael lowered his eyes. Cracked his jaw. "Twenty."

"That's a hundred dollars."

"I really don't want to be raped by McNab," Michael said quietly.

"And I really don't want you to become everyone's punk," Alex said. "It doesn't always start by being turned out in order to get protection. It can start like this. A hundred here. Two hundred. Your dessert, your food. Any commissary goods. Cleaning their cells. Then, before you know it, they're riding you. Pushing you for more. And it starts to seem reasonable."

"I won't..."

"You don't know, Michael," Alex interrupted, voice sharp. He struggled to sit up. Coughed and reached out a hand.

Michael came over right away. Alex wrapped his hand around Michael's wrist and pulled him close.

"I have stamps in the cell. I tore open the upper right corner of the mattress; they're in there." He quirked an eyebrow at Michael's expression and said, "I'm cautious."

"I see that."

"Take twenty. Go to Martinez and tell him the deal's off. You've changed your mind, and you'll take your chances. Offer him ten for his troubles; if he protests, give him the rest and tell him that you're good for your word, but don't need help. Then leave. Go sit with Randall and O'Connell. Don't leave their sides, ever."

"Won't they..."

"Safety in numbers, Michael. And they're my friends. They may not fight for you, but they'll watch your back and let you hang around for free." Alex cocked his head. "I'm surprised at Jacks, though I thought he worshiped you."

Michael's cheeks colored. "He's not happy. But he can't say anything to Martinez. He gave me an earful though." He blinked. "I'm sorry."

Alex slid his hand behind Michael's head. Felt the short strands against the palm of his hand. "It's all right. I just... I need to know that you're no doing anything that will get you into more trouble while I'm in here."

Michael grabbed the chair nearby. Sank into it, head falling against Alex's thigh. "It's different, this time. Last time I was so focused on what needed to be done, you know? All that mattered was getting Linc out. That was it. I didn't matter. Getting hurt didn't matter. I didn't care. I mean, I didn't want to get raped, and did what I could to avoid it. But if it came down to if, if the only way to break him out was to give myself up." He stopped speaking.

"Life is easier when you live only for others," Alex said, caressing Michael's head. "But you can't do it forever."

"I'm a little bit... unnerved," Michael said softly.

"Yeah," Alex sighed. He lay back and closed his eyes, still stroking Michael's hair. "Yeah. So am I. But we'll get through this, Michael. I promise."

Michael lifted his head, took Alex's hand, and kissed his wrist. "I know. It's just... hard."

He smiled crookedly. "Sometimes, you have to struggle to hold onto your faith."

"Believe me, I know. I..."

"Scofield!" The CO stormed into the room, baton in hand. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Michael got to his feet quickly. Grabbed the mop. "I'm done in here, boss. I was just checking to make sure my cellie was all right."

The CO's expression didn't soften. "Move it, con. You got other rooms to clean."

"Yes, boss." Michael glanced back at Alex. Nodded and left.

"You. Sleep. Or whatever."

Alex fought not to roll his eyes and settled back into his bed. "Whatever you say, boss." Mouth still tingling from Michael's kiss, body warmed from the visit, Alex drifted off to sleep.

His last thought before sleep claimed him was that he hoped Martinez was as reasonable as Alex had always believed.


	7. Chapter 7

Michael made it through the rest of the day without much trouble. He gave the stamps and his apologies to Martinez after he got off work. Martinez accepted both with a nod and an invitation to sit with the crew whenever he wanted. After that, he spent the rest of the day playing cards or watching TV with Randall and O'Connell, both Jacks and Sammy following him wherever he went.

"Are you going to get in trouble?" Michael had asked when Jacks joined him at dinner. "Hanging out with me?"

Jacks had shrugged and said, "Martinez said to do what I want. If you get jumped and I get involved, it's all on me. Which is fine, you know? I been here a year and a half and don't have nobody to hang around with but them. Which is cool, and they're cool, but I didn't choose them. It's just, you know. Family and all that."

"Ah."

That had been yesterday. Since then, Michael had been approached three times in the shower with offers to take real good care of him. He'd watched reality TV in the rec room, beat three people at Sorry, and was propositioned yet *again*.

It happened as Michael was putting away the game. There was a closet was packed full of games and puzzles, and Michael was trying to find a place to slide the box when there was a whisper in his ear.

"Hey. Look, this place can get lonely for guys like us," the voice said. "I won't, you know. Ask for anything. Just, you're hot. And I'm, you know."

Michael's skin crawled. Not from fear or revulsion, just... God, he hated being propositioned. He preferred being the pursuer, the one in charge of everything. Being hunted? He hated it.

"Um. No. Thanks." He turned to see who had made the offer, but whoever it was had scurried away, disappearing into the crowd.

With that, Michael went back to his cell and was locked away, alone. Halfway through the long, sleepless night, he crawled into Alex's bunk. Surrounded by his scent, Michael drifted off to his uneasy dreams.

The next morning sounded out the same way as the others. Count. The most disgusting breakfast ever. Back to the cell to clean. Mind numbing boring routine, all the more boring because Alex wasn't there.

"Scofield!" a guard called as he made his way towards the rec room.

Michael turned. "Yes, boss?"

The man was holding a clipboard and pointing to a line of cons. "You've got class, Scofield. Fall in line."

"Class?"

"Didn't you read the schedule you were given? You remembered to show up to work yesterday."

He thought quickly, picturing the neatly typed piece of paper that now dictated his life. Janitorial, Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Group therapy on Friday afternoons. Tuesday and Thursday...

Crap.

"Right. Class. Sorry, boss." He did an about face and joined the line of inmates heading off to mandatory classes.

Right behind Sammy.

"Hey," Michael said, grateful that someone he knew was going to be with him. Especially since, up ahead, Nicky and Paul were standing chatting with other members of the mob.

"Hey, Mikey," Sammy said. Then he blushed. "You don't mind? Blueprints is kinda long to say."

"It's fine." He nodded at the mob. "Any idea where Ricky is?"

"Got a lay-in. Sick."

"Shouldn't have licked my neck."

"Gross."

"Move it, cons."

The line trudged forward.

Michael went over what he knew of his assigned class in his mind. He vaguely remembered going over all of it with his counselor and the warden. They'd talked to him about what to expect. About what would be expected from him. About his weekly work schedule and yard time and the commissary. It'd all sort of washed over him, him thinking he knew all he needed to know and being too muzzy headed to care.

He remembered discussing his interests. The warden telling him that all the inmates were required to go to classes, whether it be to learn English, learn to read, to earn a GED, or general enrichment classes. That Michael would, of course, fall into the latter. He'd been given a list of classes offered and asked what he'd be interested in.

He had absolutely no idea what he'd agreed to.

They were all led into a classroom. Six tables. Bars on the windows. Three guards with their hands on their guns. One small woman with graying brown hair twisted on top of her head. There were large sheets of paper taped to the front wall. On the tables in front of each sheet was an art pad, each con's name and ID number neatly written.

Michael and Sammy were sitting next to one another. On the other side of Michael was Nicky Esposito.

Fun times.

"Good morning, everyone," the woman said, a smile creasing her careworn face. "I see we have some new faces. My name is Abigail Sharp. I've taught art for twenty years, both in the public schools and the prison system. My son was incarcerated at this prison in 1997. Screw with me, and you're out."

Silence. Michael couldn't tell if it was sullen or not.

"All right. Today we're going to draw our hands. Open your art pad to the first blank page. We're going to be concentrating on shadow and light. So, what we're going to do is shade in the space first." She picked up her pencil and began to rub it over the paper. She continued to do this until most of it was filled, talking all the time about negative space and contours. "Once it's all filled, start erasing. You're going to open the space around your hand," she said, following her own directions.

She was a good teacher. Very engaging, throwing in light humor in with her lecture. And she made it look easy, too.

Of course, for Michael, it was easy. But he noticed the rest of the cons dove in with enthusiasm and confidence. When he'd taught art at different shelters and community centers, he'd never been able to elicit that response.

Abigail quickly released them to draw. She turned on music and then wandered the classroom, checking progress, correcting mistakes, complimenting.

Michael felt his heart pound when she drew near.

"Nicky, very nice. Look at your hand. Where does the light hit?"

He squinted. "My fingers?"

"The pads, right. So you'll want to erase right there." She pointed, then patted him on the back. "Keep going." Then she moved to Michael. "My goodness. You're very good. Michael, right?"

He ducked his head. "Thank you."

"No, really. You have quite a talent."

"Of course he does," Sammy piped up. "He's a structural engineer."

Michael kicked him under the table.

"Oh. But this is art. Do you do a lot of art?"

Again, Sammy couldn't keep his mouth shut. "He designed the tattoo on his body."

"I love body art," Abigail said. "I've always wanted to learn to do tattoos. I think they're an important cultural statement of our times. May I see yours?"

Sammy was dead. Very, very dead.

Michael swallowed. "Uh. Here." He rolled up his sleeve and showed her the cards on his arm.

"Oh, come on, Blueprints," Nicky drawled. "Show her all of 'em."

"All of them?"

"Boy has more ink on him than the Sistine Chapel."

His face was on fire. "I have full sleeves and my chest and back," he said.

Her face reflected her awe and understanding. "You're the Scofield man who broke his brother out of jail. I've always wanted to see the tattoos."

"I'd rather not. Here."

"I understand. Maybe some other time." She pat him on the shoulder. "Keep drawing."

Michael nodded. Went back to work. His stomach felt hollow and his entire body was too hot. Under normal circumstances, he hated being singled out. He'd learned to deal with it when he was in school, and later at work, but here? Prison was not the place you wanted to be drawn from the crowd as having anything extraordinary about you. His story about breaking out of prison served to help him. It gave him credibility, that he was tough and willing to defy authority despite his looks and quite manner.

But that was the extent of it. His history in prison, his tattoos, his break out and elude the feds story was the most he could stand out from the rest of the populace. Being called out on his artistic talent, especially in front of a man whose brother he'd inadvertently made an enemy of, was not something that would ultimately be good for his health.

Nonetheless, he finished the hand drawing very quickly. It was something he'd done a hundred times before in a hundred different art classes. He had mixed feelings about the technique. On the one hand, the idea of uncovering something in the shadows was appealing; he enjoyed uncovering things, be it objects in a shadow or the answer to a mystery. On the other hand, he didn't like erasing and hated the little piles of pink eraser dust that collected while using it.

Hand done, he flipped to the next page and started sketching idly. Little nothing sketches: the yard as it looked in the afternoon: cons wandering around; playing chess or poker; lifting weights on the pile or playing basketball; sitting around and talking. He drew from his perspective on the bleachers, Alex at his side, bent over the chessboard, hair falling over his high forehead, his long, elegant fingers wrapped around a piece as he made a move. Jacks, one bench below Michael, leaning nearly against his leg. Sammy, making shapes with a loop of string. Randall and O'Connell, cards in hand. The shadow's of guard towers, guards silhouetted on the ground.

"Okay, that's class for today," Abigail said with a sharp clap of her hands. "Leave your books where they are; I'll collect them after they're gone. Next week you'll be choosing a piece you've done to revise with the idea of putting it for sale in the shop."

"The shop?" Michael whispered to Sammy.

"Yeah. There's a store for visitors and stuff. They sell stuff we've made a shop downstairs to visitors and stuff. We get, like, ten percent of the sale; the rest goes to fund the programs and stuff. They've got us doing all kinds of stuff to sell: art, woodwork, jewelry making, quilting."

"Quilting."

"Dude. It's so hard to get into the quilting class. Everyone wants to do it. You get to keep the quilt."

"Ah." Michael rose and followed the line of cons to the door.

"Scofield. You stay," the CO said.

He blinked. "What?"

The guard nodded, indicating Michael should step out of line.

Fantastic.

He fell out of line and next to the guard. His heart was pounding, palms sweating. God, this was not good. Being singled out yet *again*. Left behind after everyone else retuned to the block.

Damn it.

"Sorry, Michael," Abigail said when everyone was gone. "I wanted to speak alone. Well. Relatively alone." She threw a wry smile at the guards.

"It's okay." He rubbed his hands together. Twisted his fingers. "Look, I'm really not comfortable with the idea of stripping down and showing you the tattoos. I have some pictures, but it'll take..."

"Oh, no, Michael, sorry. God, what you must think." She laughed, blushing. "It's sounds like bad porn. The teacher and the inmate?"

He blushed hard, face on fire. "Then, uh. Then what..."

"I wanted to speak to you about your artwork." She walked to his seat and picked up his sketch pad. "I was able to see what you were working on during class. It's very good, Michael. You're incredibly talented." She opened the pad to his sketch of the yard. "I know people who would buy this. Or you could do a series and I could do a show on your work. Crediting you, of course."

Christ. "I don't know. I just... draw. And I'm only here to do my time, not to be any kind of celebrity or anything." More than he was. Already he got about a hundred letters from "fans" a day; he'd yet to get one in prison, but he knew they were coming.

"I'd give the same chance to any other inmate displaying the same talent. I believe someone in the writing class has gotten several essays and stories published. This is the same thing."

He sighed. Rubbed his forehead.

"Michael, the worst thing that can happen is you art doesn't sell and you become the owner of some beautiful pieces that will be appreciated after you die. On the other hand, you might have a new career waiting for you when you get out. Plus," she continued, head tilted to the side, "unlike the inmate store, you'll get to keep most of the money."

"Most?"

"Well, you'll need an agent. It doesn't to be me, but whoever is responsible for the actual sale of your are will get a percentage. That can be worked out with your lawyer."

"I don't..."

"Jesus fuck, Scofield, you stupid or something?" the CO said. "You get money and time off the yard to work on your art. You'd have to be a fool to turn it down."

Michael sighed. Rubbed his head. "Yeah, sure. Whatever. That's not done, though."

"Oh, I know. When you come in Thursday, there will be supplies for you to finish up. Whatever medium you decide."

"Thanks." He bit the inside of his cheeks.

"You're welcome. We can discuss the details later. I'll speak with the warden, see how he'd like to handle this."

"Okay. Sounds good." He glanced at the CO.

"Done with him Mrs. Sharp?"

She nodded. Held out her hand. "It was nice to meet you, Michael. I look forward to working with you."

He looked at her hand, and back at the CO.

"Make it quick."

Michael took her hand, shook it briefly, then released. "Thank you." He turned and walked out of the room, the CO following closely behind.

"You one lucky son of a bitch, Scofield," he said conversationally. "But you got talent, so I guess you deserve it. Hate seeing fucking cons get ahead in life like that, usually, but, well. I got a brother, too. What happened to him was messed up."

"Thank you." He didn't quite know what to say.

"Try it here, and I will blow your fucking head off."

"Yes, boss."

They made it the rest of the way to the block without further conversation. Michael was buzzed back into Gen pop, where the cons were enjoying the last few hours of cell and yard time. As Michael passed the rec room, he glanced in; none of his gang was inside, so he continued on to the yard.

He never even saw them coming. One minute, he was on his way to the yard. Then next, he was gasping for air on the floor of a storage closet, Nicky and Paul standing above him, strangers behind them.

"Little boy punk ain't so tough without his daddy, is he?" Nicky sneered, punctuating his words with kicks to Michael's stomach. "Thinks it's fucking funny to fuck around with my brother as long as he's go protection. But now..."

Michael grabbed Nicky's leg. Pulled, hard

Nicky fell back, but whatever advantage Michael had gained was quickly lost. The others set upon him, fist and boots and metal slamming into him. HIs face, his ribs. A bone cracked, and then another. Blood flooded over his face.

Michael struggled to his feet. Surged against his attackers, feet and fists both flying. Was pushed back down. Pinned, arms and legs.

"You think you're tough, baby? Think you're something fucking special because you got some fancy tatty's and a bullshit story?" Hands tugged at his belt, his fly. Yanked his pants down.

"No!" Michael bucked against the hands, the bodies pinning him to the ground. Twisted and turned, tried to get free.

Someone kicked him in the head. The world darkened.

"Don't," he whispered, still fighting, even as his vision and strength faded.

There was a sudden, sickening sound of metal. A sharp, tearing pain down his right side. His left. Circling the base of his penis, drawing warm rivers of blood.

"You think you're better than the rest of us," Nickey said. "So pretty." The shank curved over Michael's face, cutting his cheek. "So smart." Another cut over his pec, across his chest. "So fucking artistic." He grabbed Michael's hand and sliced off the tip of his fifth finger.

Michael screamed. Bit his lip to hold back the rest as Nicky moved down to his first knuckle and sliced off the rest. He heard the dull thud next to his ear as the finger fell to the ground.

"Scream, baby. Better yet, scream for you fucking daddy. Think he's still gonna want you if you come to him a little less than man?" The knife went to the base of Michael's dick. "He a pole smoker like you, or he just want your tight little ass so he can pretend it's his wife's cunt?" The knife slid down, between Michael's cheek.

He screamed again. Wrenched his arm free. Smacked Nicky across the face.

Nicky grabbed his arm. Squeezed. "You fucking stupid? You want me to rip you up inside?" The knife point pressed against Michael's hole. Tore into his skin.

Light suddenly flooded the room. Nicky was pulled off. The rest tried to scatter, but went down. Michael couldn't see what was going on. Couldn't understand. Just rolled over, away from his finger. Vomited. Passed out.


	8. Chapter 8

Daytime TV remained as uninteresting as ever. Talk shows that made him despair for humanity. Soap operas whose plots were convoluted, unbelievable, and poorly acted. News that informed of nothing. Old sitcoms he had memorized. The only thing Alex found remotely entertaining were reality dating shows, and he felt vaguely dirty for deriving any pleasure from them.

And yet...

He was breathing much better today. He'd been taken off the oxygen, although he was still using albuterol every two hours. And he was tired. He couldn't even muster enough energy to pick up a paperback book. Just lie in bed and watch TV, letting the words wash over him, bored to death.

Around four, that changed. A nurse rushed into his room. Drew the curtains and slammed the door shut behind her as she left.

Interesting.

Alex slipped the oxygen reader from his index finger. Swung his legs over the edge of the bed and into his slippers. Went to the door and opened.

"Alex, get back to bed," Clark, the CO standing guard, snapped.

"Why are you guarding my door, boss?" he asked.

"Get back in there." Clark slammed the door on Alex.

He stepped back. Frowned. Went to the window and pulled the shades.

"Michael." Illness forgotten, malaise and exhaustion gone, Alex burst through the door. Clark, caught off guard, was shoved aside as Alex threw the door open. Ran down the hall to the room across from his.

Clark caught him before he made it. "Alex! Seriously, you do not want to go in there."

He struggled against the hold. "I have to. He needs...."

"He needs everyone to be completely focused on him. Not you, him. You'd only be in the way."

Alex swallowed, forcing his panic back. He stopped struggling. Forced himself to breathe. "What. Happened?" he asked, words bitten off.

Clark's hold loosened. "Don't know. Got jumped." He tugged Alex away.

"How bad is it?"

"Bad. Got a finger cut off. He came in without his pants, blood coming out of his ass. He gained consciousness right as they brought him in, threw up, and passed out again."

"Raped?" There was a sour taste in his mouth.

Clark shook his head. "Don't know."

"Fuck." Alex stepped away from Clark. Rested his head on the windows looking into his room. "Fuck."

"Look, I know you..."

"The warden wanted me to keep an eye out for him. Thought he'd be vulnerable to attack. To something like this." He snorted. "Bang up job I did."

"The kid never shoulda been pushed out into Gen Pop with that cold. It's spreading like wildfire out there, no wonder you got it. He's in your cell. Sneezing all over you. They should have waited until he was better so you wouldn't have gotten sick too."

Alex sneezed.

"Go back to bed, Alex. You won't help him any by getting sick."

He shook his head. "I can't. I need to know he's okay."

Clark sighed. "Look. The doc said I wasn't supposed to let you out of the room Didn't want you panicking. I shoulda cuffed you the minute you came out, but I get it. You feel protective for the kid. I don't blame you. What happened to him is fucked up. But you're not doing anyone any good standing in the hall in your PJs. Go inside. Calm down. The doc'll get you when he's done."

He was about to decline when a fit of coughing overtook him. He bent double, hacking, wheezing. When he finally stopped, he straightened and, without a word, went back to his room.

Three agonizing hours later, Dr. Parsons came into his room. Three hours of bad cartoons, tasteless food, and a knot in his stomach that wouldn't come undone.

Parsons had blood on his normally white coat and his shirt. His face was haggard and tired and he rubbed his head wearily.

Alex was off the bed like a shot. "I want to see him."

Parsons nodded. "He's asleep. Likely to be asleep for some time. We had to do surgery to reattach his finger."

"What finger, what hand?" Alex demanded as he followed Parsons out of the room.

"The little finger on his right hand. It was severed in two separate places. The tip was taken off, and then below the second knuckle. He should regain full use of it, with physical therapy and time." Parsons sighed. Pushed the door to Michael's room open.

"Fuck," Alex breathed. He crossed the room quickly, heart pounding in his throat.

Michael was lying on right side, curled into the fetal position. His face was a mask of black and blue, swollen and bulgy. Oxygen tubes were in each swollen nostril, behind his ears, across stitched cheeks. His right hand was wrapped in gauze and pressed against his chest, cradled in relative safety. He was breathing slowly, shallowly. He looked pale, wasted, and so incredibly vulnerable.

"What else?" Alex found a chair and sank into it. There seemed to be no safe place to touch Michael, but he finally covered the Michael's left hand with his and squeezed.

"Alex. I really shouldn't..."

"Fuck what you should do, tell me!"

He sighed. "Except for the swelling and contusions, his face is fine. Oh, the uh, the stitches. His attacker had a shank and used it to slice up his face, neck, and body. There shouldn't be any noticeable scarring; I did the stitches as small as I could. There were a few cuts around the base of his penis. And, uh. Around the opening of his anus."

Alex stiffened. "Around where?" he asked, voice low.

"Alex..."

"I am going to kill the son of a bitch who did this."

"Alex..."

"Who did this to him?"

Parsons cleared his throat. "He has a broken rib. We've got him on pain killers and an anti-inflammatory. When he wakes up, he'll be as high as a kite. Tomorrow morning, he'll be taken to the local hospital for an MRI to make sure none of his internal organs were damaged."

"What if they were? He's going to have to until morning to find out? What if his spleen was ruptured? You going to let him die just because he's a con and not worth anything?"

Without noticing, he'd back Parsons against the wall. His fists were clenched, ready to attack, ready to pound this man for not taking care of Michael better. For keeping him in the infirmary, keeping him away from Michael. For allowing this to happen.

"Alex," Parsons said. "Please. Calm down."

"You want me to calm down?" Alex grabbed his coat.

"If you don't, I'll have to call a guard. They will beat you, cuff you, lock you away and you won't be able to be with Michael. Think of Michael, Alex. He needs you here with him. He's going to need you."

Michael. Right.

He forced himself to breath. To let go of Parsons's coat. To step away and go back to Michael. "Who did this?"

"I don't really know."

"Michael didn't say?"

"No."

"Doc!" someone called from the hall. "Need you."

Parsons sighed. "I'll be back, Alex. Don't... I trust you, never mind." He stepped out of the room and closed the door.

Alex pulled his chair close to the bed. Stroked Michael's hand with his fingertips. Thought about moving to his face, but was afraid it would hurt too much. Right now, his left hand seemed the only part not injured.

The door opened again. Alex glanced over to see the warden walk in.

"The doctor gave me the run down earlier," he said in lieu of greeting. "I knew you'd probably force you way in here."

He didn't answer. Turned back to Michael. Squeezed his hand.

"Depending on what happens tomorrow at the hospital, I'm thinking of moving Michael to the psych ward during his recovery. It'd be more comfortable than here, and he'll be separated from any dangerous patients. It's a more hospital-like environment. Trauma counseling."

"Will I be allowed to see him?"

"We'll see. If it aids his recovery."

Alex chewed on his lower lip. "And after?"

"After?"

"Will he return to Gen Pop?"

The warden rubbed his chin. "I've yet to decide. His attackers are in segregated housing for now. I'm considering permanently segregating them from Gen Pop. This is... unacceptable. Every prison has its share of problems and it's impossible to stop everything, but this...."

"Who did it?"

"No." The warden shook his head decisively. "Absolutely not. I am not allowing you to get involved in some war with anyone at this prison. You have enough problems as it is."

He tightened his hand around Michael's. "He's going to want his brother."

"I'll call him. Have him meet Michael at the hospital tomorrow." The warden sighed. "I'm sorry, Alex."

He didn't answer.

The warden stood there a few moments longer before he quietly left.

Alex lay his head on the bed next to Michael's and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. This time he did reached out and very gently touch the side of Michael's battered face. "I'm so, so sorry." Wrapping his hand around Michael's again, he closed his eyes.

He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until soft caresses drew him back to consciousness. He opened his eyes, blinked a few times. They felt gummy, swollen. His throat ached and chest was clogged. A few harsh coughs cleared that. Still coughing, he sat up, turned away. Found a tissue in his pocket and spit.

When he turned, a pair of bright blue eyes were on him.

"You're awake," he said. He touched Michael's forehead and dragged his fingers along it.

"Am I?" Michael rasped. He blinked. Coughed lightly. "I don't feel awake. I'm all... gone." He closed his eyes. Opened again. "Am I awake?"

"Yes, you are. It's the pain killers. It can cause disconnect." As gently as possible, he stroked along Michael's jaw. "I'm so sorry."

Michael frowned. "You didn't do anything."

"I wasn't there."

"It wouldn't have mattered. You would have been hurt too." He was talking slowly, taking a breath between almost each word. "They were waiting. For me to be alone." He swallowed. Uncurled his legs, stretching them out. "It would have happened. Eventually."

Alex shook his head. Grasped Michael's hand. "I wouldn't have let it."

Michael smiled. "My knight." Then his smile melted away. Tears flooded his eyes, poured down his cheeks. "I was so scared."

"Move over."

He obeyed, squirming back until there was enough room for Alex to squeeze onto the bed. He wrapped his arms around Michael. Held him tightly, rubbing his back with soothing circles.

"I couldn't stop them. I tried, but couldn't. Don't even know how... how many there were. Just Nicky, he was the main one. And he was so angry. Like I'd... I'd done something to Ricky. Like he was jealous." He clung to Alex's pajama top with his good hand, the injured one still pressed against his chest. "He just wouldn't stop. Kept hurting me. Cutting me. So angry. It was personal, not even... Abruzzi was business." Coughed. Pressed his face into Alex's chest. "This was... so violent. Angry. Hurtful. What did I do?"

"Nothing, Michael. This wasn't your fault."

"The art teacher. She kept me after class. Wants to represent me. Sell my art. I was sitting next to him during class. I got his brother sick. And he... he..." Violent shudders overtook him. He coughed a couple times. Then, quiet suddenly, he pushed Alex away. Sat up and vomited.

Alex went for the door. Threw it open and stuck his head out. "Doctor Parsons!"

One of the nurses came out of the next room. "Is Michael awake?"

"Yeah. He just threw up."

She called something back into the room, then came down the hall. "Doctor called me in from psych ward to help out here. With him. Thought it'd be easier on him to deal with a female," she said briskly as she passed Alex.

Michael was still sitting up. He hadn't leaned over the side in time, so the blanket on him was covered in vomit. His body trembled uncontrollably, tears still streaming nonstop from his eyes.

"Michael, my name is Rose. The doctor will be in a minute." She opened a locked drawer across the room. Pulled out a hypodermic needle and checked the labeling. "I'm going to give you something to help you calm down. Right now, I need you to breathe. All right? Can you take a deep breath for me?" She went to the IV stand and injected the sedative into the IV.

"Hurts."

"I know, you have a broken rib. But you still need to breathe. In through your nose, out your mouth. You can do that, right?"

"No."

"Michael." Alex stepped to the bed and took his hand. "Breathe?"

Chin trembling, Michael inhaled shallowly. Blew the air out.

"Good job," Rose said. "Okay, babe, lay back."

He shook his head.

"Michael, please," Alex begged.

"Hurts."

"On a scale from one to ten, Michael, how bad would you say the pain is?"

"I don't... know, I don't... feel it, but it's there, I know it's going to hurt, I'm just..." He trailed off, eyelids drooping. He exhaled slowly. Lay back on the bed, eyes half-lidded.

Rose let out a breath of her own. "Michael, I'm going to take the blanket off you. I need to get a clean one."

"Okay." His breathing was slower now. More evenly.

Feeling a little drained, Alex sat down in the chair. Michael tightened his grip around Alex's hand. "Don't leave me," he said.

Alex shook his head. "Wild horses."

Rose brought another blanket in and tucked it around Michael. She also had another hospital gown, which she helped Michael change in to. As she cleaned Michael up, Parsons came back in.

"Sorry I wasn't here sooner," he said. "I had another emergency patient. Not nearly as bad as you, Michael, but I was... Anyway. How are you feeling, Michael?"

"I don't know."

"Are you in any pain?"

"I don't know."

Parsons nodded. "All right, this is up to you, Michael. I could your injuries right now, or you sleep, relax a little, and we'll talk later. What do you feel up to?"

More tears fell. "My finger. I can't." He lifted bandaged hand.

"We've reattached your finger. Both parts that were cut off. There should be no reason you don't regain full use of it."

"My..." He blushed. Shifted.

"There were a few cuts around your anus. Most were superficial, but one was very deep. I had to place a few stitches in that one, so we'll keep you on stool softeners for the next few weeks. You've got a couple broken ribs on your right side. The danger with broken ribs is it hurts to breathe. Lay on that side as much as you can to help alleviate the pain a bit. The danger with broken ribs is that you won't get the air you need. There's also a danger of pneumonia or partial collapse of the lung. You're on pain medication and anti-inflammatory medication, which should help, but I need you to do your best to take deep breaths. At least once an hour, you need to take the absolute deepest breath you can to exercise your lungs."

Michael blinked. "What about one of those breathing things? Like after surgery?"

"I don't have one here, but I can get one if that will help you remember to breathe."

"Okay." His hand tightened around Alex's.

"Tomorrow we're going to take you to the hospital for an MRI. We need to make sure none of your internal organs are damaged. If you start feeling sick, throw up any more, whatever, tell someone and we'll take you sooner."

He nodded. "Can Alex stay with me?"

Parsons sighed. "I'll see what I can do. The warden wants you isolated from everyone right now, but Alex is... different." He rubbed his hands over his head. "Oh. The warden called your brother. He said that you can call and speak with him, too. I'll have a phone brought in here."

Michael nodded again. His eyelids were drooping, breathing slowed.

"I think that's enough," Alex said.

Parsons nodded. "I agree. Alex, your dinner will be brought soon. I'll have the guard bring your belongings here. Make sure he sleeps. Someone will be checking in soon."

"Thanks."

The doctor and nurse left, and they were alone once more.

"Are you going to be okay?" Alex asked. He sat on the bed again and put his arm around Michael.

"I don't know." He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Not right now."

Alex kissed his forehead. "That's fine." He squeezed Michael's hand. "I'll be here, you know that? I promise."

"I know." Michael closed his eyes. A moment later, his breathing was steady and slow, safely asleep.

Carefully, Alex leaned back, cradling Michael against him. As he caressed Michael's arm soothingly and listened to him breath, Alex began to plot his revenge against Nicky Esposito.


	9. Chapter 9

"I don't even know who to kill to make this right," Lincoln said, squeezing his kid brother's hand as tightly as he dared.

Michael sighed. Closed his eyes. "Don't kill anyone. I don't want you back in prison. LJ needs you too much. You know?"

"Kid doesn't need me," Lincoln snorted. "He barely talks to me these days. I'm lucky if he comes out of his room for more than the bathroom or to go to school."

"He's a teenager. And he's been through a lot. Lisa's death is probably hitting him hard now that everything's over."

Lincoln nodded. "You're right. I know." He sighed heavily. "I'm just tired. It's hard dealing with his moods and attitude. I'm doing the best I can, but feel like I'm failing."

"I think all parents feel like that. I remember you saying that a few times with me."

"And look how good you turned out, right?" Lincoln smiled, but the smile quickly faded away. "Christ. Mikey." He reached out and ran his hand over Michael's shaved head. "This shouldn't have happened."

He shook his head. "It's okay."

"It's not okay!" he shouted. "It's not okay, dammit! You are serving prison sentence. You didn't agree to this. This is cruel and unusual punishment and I am not going to let it continue." He rose. Began pacing. "I'm calling your lawyer. We'll sue the prison. We'll sue the family. Esposito you said? He's a fucking animal and needs to be put down."

Michael sighed again. Pulled the blanket higher over him. Whispered, "I don't believe in the death penalty."

It was like Lincoln just stopped. Stood there, frozen. Like a robot in a ride at Disneyland with the power cut. Stared at him with empty, uncomprehending eyes.

Michael squirmed. Winced at the sharp pain from his broken rib. Shrank back against the uncomfortable hospital bed.

Abruptly, Lincoln turned and went to the door. Pounded on it.

The guard on the outside opened and let Lincoln out. It closed again, leaving Michael alone.

Alone again, Michael slid down and rolled onto his injured side. Breathed as deeply as he could as he'd been instructed. Wished this was over.

It felt like it'd been going on forever. The attack. The nightmares he couldn't wake up from because of the medications. The pain in his side. His ass. His finger. The raw, torn feeling in his chest. And the waiting. The never ending waiting.

The ambulance had taken him from the prison to the hospital at nine that morning. The warden and a guard had ridden with him. Lincoln had met them in the ER, followed him as he was admitted to a room to wait for the MRI. A doctor had checked his injuries, administered pain medication, explained what would happen. The warden and Lincoln had talked (the warden had talked, Lincoln had shouted).

And now...

It was well after noon. Almost one. And he was still waiting.

He sighed and curled into a ball. Oh, he hated this. So, so very much. He felt fragile, he'd shatter into a million pieces with the slightest touch. And he hated feeling this way. He wasn't a fragile man. Wasn't a weak man. Wasn't someone who needed to lean on another person to keep him from falling apart.

And yet, right now, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to survive on his own.

The door opened. "Michael, I'm sorry. I just.... I'm stupid, Mikey, you know that." He came around the bed and knelt at Michael's side. "I'm sorry I left."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not fine. You shouldn't be alone right now." He stroked Michael's cheek tenderly.

Michael sniffed, tears welling in his eyes. Lincoln being here made him feel better, less alone. But it also reminded him that they weren't together. Lincoln had his life back now, and Michael...

Michael was marking time, neither alive nor dead.

* * *

Alex was released from the infirmary the next morning. Coincidentally, it was after Michael was taken to the hospital. He went straight back to his cell, lowered the curtain, and climbed into Michael's bunk.

It didn't smell enough like him. Didn't give Alex the sense of peace he needed.

Finally, disgusted with himself, he climbed into his bunk.

Which smelled like Michael.

"Hey, FBI!" Jacks called outside the cell. "We need to talk." The sheet got shoved aside. Jacks and Sammy strode in, followed by Randall and O'Connell.

"Sorry about this, Alex," O'Connell said sheepishly. "I just want to make sure these two don't get into trouble."

Alex sat up. Rubbed his eyes. "No, it's fine. What's going on?"

Jacks was brimming with energy, practically bouncing. Alex could almost see his very cells vibrating. "Okay, so Ricky's been taken care of for now. Sammy said he's got Nicky and the rest done, but it's hard to say because of them being in the SHU and all. And..."

"Wait, what?"

"What what?"

"What do you mean Ricky's been taken care of?"

"Martinez shanked him last night at dinner," Randall said. "Very cool as you please. Just walked up, slid the shank between his ribs, and walked away. Took the bulls a bit to realize what happened."

That had been the emergency last night, Alex realized. Shit.

"He shouldn't have."

"Martinez was right there when the guards found Michael. Said he 'bout smashed in Nicky's face. Even the guards went apeshit. They maybe didn't like Michael, but what happened to him.... They found him with the shank still in his ass."

Alex smirked. Then he stepped forward, closer to Ricky. Punched him.

The other man stumbled back. Hit the wall. "What the fuck, man!" he shouted, holding his nose. He surged.

Randall caught him. "Be cool, Jacks. Think before you flap your mouth for once."

Jacks glared at Alex, but nodded. "Fine. Sorry." He pulled his hand away. Sniffed. Wiped away blood. "Okay. So Ricky's in the infirmary. Sammy's on food service right now. He made the sandwiches for their bags. They both got glass shard specials. Good warning, right?"

"You shouldn't have," Alex said. He leaned against the bunk. Rubbed his forehead. Tried to think.

"We had to."

"No, you didn't have to. *I* had to. I'm the one responsible for him, *I'm* the on who gets to have revenge. Not you."

"I don't get what it is to you anyway. You don't even like the guy."

Randall caught Alex before he could take another swing at Jacks. "Calm down, Alex. You need to calm down." He turned his head to look at Jacks. "And you need to stop being such a fucking bird brain, Jacks. Alex and Michael have more in common than anyone else in this prison. They're cellies. Friends. Partners. Comprende?"

Jacks gritted his teeth. "Si."

"Hey!" A CO came in. Pulled the sheet down. "We having a party in here?"

"No, boss," Alex said. He stepped away from Randall. Grabbed a book off the dresser and climbed onto his bunk. "They were just leaving."

"Later, man," O'Connell said, dragging Sammy out of the room. "Make sure you get some air later."

"Sure."

Jacks stayed behind. Waited until the CO told Alex to keep the sheet down and went off.

"Nicky was fucking his brother," Jacks said.

"What?" Alex put down his book. Sat up.

"Ricky never played catcher for nobody, 'cept is brother. Nicky ain't gay, but you know. Prison. But seems like Ricky was really taken with our boy. Michael weren't just turning down mob protection; he was turning down a chance to top Ricky when no one ain't topped him before."

"Except his brother," Alex said slowly. Suddenly, things were making sense. The anger Michael had been subject to. The brutality. Not the actions of the mob withdrawing their offer of protection, but of a scorned lover.

Sick. Twisted. And Michael was caught in the middle.

"Thanks, Jacks."

"Blueprints comin' back?"

Alex sighed. His stomach twisted painfully at the thought of fifteen years without Michael to relieve the endless moments. "I don't know right now. I don't think the Warden knows. We'll just have to wait and see."

* * *

Useless. Lincoln was completely and utterly useless. Stupid, too, couldn't forget that. After all, without his stupidity, his inability to make the right choice, Michael never would have been in this mess. Never have gone to Fox River. Never given up his life. Never gone on the run. Never would have had to turn himself in to ensure Lincoln get the best possible deal as reparation.

Without Lincoln, Michael would be safe. Happy. Not...

Not this. Beaten. Cut. Torn. Violated.

Anger surged in him once again. Lincoln forced it down. His fists were clenched, jaw tight, but he forced himself to breathe. Breathe and not punch the walls until his fists were nothing but blood and gristle. Michael needed him together. He couldn't afford to lose it.

Around two, Michael had finally been taken to the MRI. They'd found that there was damage to his spleen, bad enough to take him immediately to surgery. Lincoln couldn't help thinking that if Michael hadn't been a con, this would have been discovered hours ago. The pain and vomiting and fever would have been enough to rush him in. Health care in America sucked, but for those who were incarcerated, it was even worse.

Of course, if Michael wasn't incarcerated, this wouldn't have happened. And, really, Michael was probably lucky. The doctor at the prison seemed to genuinely care, and the warden seemed like a decent guy. They were both looking out for Michael, trying to do what was best for him. It wasn't their fault the hospital was prejudice against those who didn't toe the line.

He wanted to kill the men who did this to his brother. Make them suffer. Worse than his brother was suffering. And Michael didn't deserve it. He didn't. All Michael had done was try to save Lincoln's life. That's all. He never should have gone back to jail. Never.

Fuck.

His cell phone rang.

"Yeah?" he answered curtly. He expected it to be LJ. The kid had gone to school today, against Lincoln's advice. When LJ had heard the news about Michael, he'd locked himself in his room. Then, as Lincoln had prepared to leave for the hospital, LJ had emerged and insisted he was going to school.

Lincoln had called the school to explain what was going on. He fully expected LJ to be spaced or, worse, violently angry. The school assured him that they were prepared to deal with any outbursts, and would contact LJ's psychologist right away.

Lincoln had been on tenterhooks about his son ever since.

To his surprise, it wasn't LJ or the principal of his school.

"Hi, Lincoln. It's Pam."

It took him a moment to place the name. When it clicked, he blinked, surprised. "Pam. Hi."

"Alex called, told me what happened. How is Michael?"

"Um, not good. He's in surgery right now. There was damage to his spleen, and they're going to remove it."

"Oh, God. How awful. I'm so sorry."

"Thanks," he said, not sure what else to say. That was one of the things about these situations; anything anybody said was ineffectual and they knew it, but had to say it anyway.

"Were you able to talk with him at all?"

"Oh, yeah. They let me sit with him all day. There was a lot of waiting. You know how it is."

"Yeah. I've been there." She sighed. "How is he holding up?"

"Well, right now he's so drugged, it's hard to say. He's kind of loopy, you know. Out of it." He rubbed his forehead, feeling it ache. "Some of it's shock, of course. He keeps babbling about things. Not making sense. I'm almost glad. He just... he shouldn't have to deal with any of this until he's healed, you know?"

"I know. There were a couple of times Alex was hurt badly on the job. He'd be out of it for days, and once his body healed, he seemed much better to deal with everything."

"Yeah." He fell silent. Banged his head softly on the wall.

"So," she said, voice changing, softening. "How are you holding up?"

"Me?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know. I'm overwhelmed with guilt. And feel completely helpless."

"Why guilt?"

"If it weren't for me, he wouldn't be here. You know, he could have gotten out of the country? We had it all planned out. And escape route for him, once I was free. If they wouldn't pardon him or whatever. Even when they told me that they'd give me a better deal--college for LJ, more money, the house, whatever--if he turned himself in, I wanted to turn it down. Wanted my brother safe. But Michael..." He broke off, mouth pressed tightly together.

"Would you have been able to keep in touch with him if he went into exile?"

Lincoln sighed. "I don't know."

"Would he have ever gotten his life back? Or a semblance of it? Ever be able to come back? Watch LJ grow into a successful young man? Watch you go one with the life he fought so hard to save?"

"I guess not. Really."

"Things are going to be tough for him. Naturally. But from what Alex has told me of Michael, his crimes would have eaten away at him if he hadn't turned himself in. This way, he serves time, he gets out, and he goes on with his life."

"This is not what he agreed to."

"Of course not," Pam said. "So. What measures have been taken to ensure this doesn't happen again?"

He blew out a breath. "I don't know. Warden's got the guys who did this to him in segregation. Possibly permanent, considering how hard they came down on Mikey. Said he's seeing what he can do to get the main one transferred to maximum security, since this ain't the first time he's done something like this. Michael's gonna go into the psych ward to recover. The prison's got the best in the state and all, good shrinks and stuff. He'll be more comfortable there getting better than the infirmary, where he'll have to see the prisoners in Gen Pop comin' through." He rubbed his forehead. "Oh, and he might be put in protective custody, at least for the next few months, if not forever."

"Well, that's good, right?"

"Don't know. Maybe. It'll give him real limited access to stuff, like the yard and classes they offer. He was saying something about some art teacher wanting to sell his art? Although I guess he'd still be able to do that, since he's already an artist. But, the thing is, it'll separate him from Alex. I don't think he'll want that."

"They're very close, aren't they?"

Not sure what exactly Pam knew about her former husband's sexuality, or his possible relationship with Michael, he just said, "Yeah. Well, when he was chasing us, Michael did mention it was like Alex was in his mind. That happened never in Michael's life, meeting someone who thought like him. Them being in prison together is probably good for both of them."

"I don't particularly want Alex to get hurt trying to protect Michael, though. They can still connect after prison."

"In, what, ten years? Not that I want Alex getting hurt either. I just... I don't' know what to think right now. What to hope for."

She sighed softly. "I understand." Pam was silent a moment. Then she said, "Is there anything I could do for you, Lincoln? You and LJ? Do you want me to call him, or fly out and, I don't know. Cook dinner while you're dealing with this?"

Lincoln couldn't help the smile. "Thank you, Pam. That's really good of you. But I wouldn't want to cause you any hassle or anything."

"No, it's fine, really. The sale on the house is going through right now. The realtor was going to fax the papers over, but I could just sign them while I'm in town." She paused again, and said, "It'd probably be good for LJ to have someone with him while your with Michael."

He sighed. "You're probably right." He banged his head against the wall. "I don't know. It just seems like an awful lot to ask. And we hardly know each others."

"We're going to be neighbors. And we're friends. And it'll give Cam a chance to see his father again. Plus, I have so many frequent flier miles right now, I could probably score really cheap tickets."

Lincoln let out a breath. "I'll leave it up to you. But... yes, I'd appreciate another set of hands to help with LJ."

"Good. Then I'll be out by tonight."

"Thank you," he said, trying to put everything he was feeling into those words.

"You're welcome, Lincoln. What are friends for?"


	10. Chapter 10

Alex's sleep was uneasy at best, and he woke up feeling worse than he had a few days ago when he'd fallen sick. This time it wasn't an illness, simply that shitty feeling that overtook one when one's life went to hell. He stumbled to breakfast, not seeing the world around him, ignoring almost everything in his search for coffee.

In the mess hall, he was redirected to another line where he was given a high protein breakfast of eggs, toast, cottage cheese, fruit, and a chocolate Ensure. It was only some choice growling at the kid serving him that he got his coffee.

"What's up with your breakfast, FBI?" Jacks demanded when Alex sat at his usual table.

He blinked at the other man. "Don't you have a gang of your own you should be with?"

Jacks shrugged and dug into his pancakes. "Like the view from here. You find out anything about Michael?"

"No." He gulped down his coffee.

Randall and O'Connell wandered over and sat down.

"Morning, Alex," O'Connell said. He eyed Alex's plate. "Congratulations, by the way. You'll be eating cottage cheese for the next year if you don't put on weight as quickly as they think you should. Hope you develop a taste for it."

Alex grimaced and grabbed a hot sauce packet from Jacks's tray. "Apparently, I wouldn't have gotten as sick as I was had I been eating the slop they call food." He looked around. "Where's Sammy?"

"SHU," O'Connell said. "They took him out yesterday afternoon because of his brilliant idea with the sandwiches. I told him that they'd figure out it was him, but did he listen? No."

Alex rolled his eyes. Shook the Ensure and unscrewed the cap. "This is such a fucking mess." He gulped the Ensure down, wincing as he did; it tasted like chocolate flavored chalk.

He managed to choke down his breakfast. Get back to his cell without incident. Around ten-thirty, a guard pulled him out, took him to the warden's office.

"How's Michael?" Alex demanded before the warden even had a chance to speak.

The other man, who was in the process of rising from his seat, stopped. Blinked at Alex. Frowned, and continued to rise. "Alex. Have a seat."

He sat. "How's Michael?"

This time, he smiled. "Michael's doing fine. The surgery was successful, he's recovering fine. They're sending him back tomorrow."

"Will he be okay?"

"There's no reason he shouldn't be. He just needs rest and time to heal, which we're going to give him." The warden cleared his throat. "Now, I spoke with Michael and his brother. Michael has expressed a desire not to be put into protective segregation. He said the only real problems he's had are with the Esposito's and if I'm planning on keeping him in disciplinary segregation, he should be fine. I'm still working on getting Nicholas transferred into maximum security; after this display, I really think that's where he belongs."

Alex thought about what he'd learned about Nicky the day before and silently agreed. The man was an animal and needed to be locked away from everyone, possibly including his beloved twin brother.

"In the meantime, I must as you to please exert whatever influence you have over your friends and have them stop seeking revenge."

"I could try, but they aren't even my friends. I barely talk to Martinez, and had no idea that Sammy was going to do anything."

The warden nodded gravely. "It needs to stop. I'm pulling all of them in here and talking to them, but I know how things work when people get it into their minds they need revenge. They listen to their leader, and until Michael gets back, that's you."

"I'll talk to them."

"Good. And you won't do anything stupid either, right?"

Alex kept his face perfectly impassive as he answered, "Of course not, sir." Not his most dishonest answer, as he didn't plan on doing anything stupid. At least not according to his definition of the word. What he planned on doing was necessary.

The warden studied him for a moment. Then he nodded. "Good. Well, that's all for now. When Michael returns tomorrow, I'll allow the two of you to have some time together, provided Dr. Parsons thinks it's all right."

"Thank you," he said. This he did mean, one hundred percent. This was prison and he was here to be punished for his sins. For breaking the law. And yet, the warden was bending over backwards for him lately, letting him be with the one person in here who gave his life any meaning.

"I'm pleased that you and Michael seem to have put aside any bad blood from the past and have forged what seems to be a viable friendship. I know it's not easy for you in here, Alex. Even among the brightest locked away, you can outthink them. Michael Scofield is a special man, and I think the two of you will be able to muddle through your incarceration together."

"I hope so, sir."

As he was led back to the yard, he couldn't help wondering if the warden suspected what was really going on. If he knew. Which he may, because he and Michael hadn't been the most discreet since Alex had gotten sick... and maybe not even before.

On the other hand, life in prison was hard. And the only men Alex could even remotely stand were Randall and O'Connell (and Sammy, but he was young, flighty, and came and went according to his moods). He hadn't doing well in here. The constant fights. The weight loss. Headaches he hadn't told anyone about. Nightmares.

He needed a friend. He needed Michael.

The day dragged. He worked janitorial in the empty rooms in the infirmary. He went to his anger management class. He waited.

Got his chance out on the yard. Ricky Esposito was alone today, all his usual compatriots in segregation. Still. He was mafia. Mafia was left alone by the rest of the population, except in cases of riots or the occasional personal vendetta.

At first, Alex kept his distance. Observed.

Ricky was leaning against the wall in the furthest spot away from everyone else. His upper back was pressed against the cool stone, his upper body shaded, legs in the sunlight. Alex noticed the other man kept his hips tilted oddly, away from the wall. The few times he slipped, relaxed so his lower body rested against it, he quickly jerked away once again.

One thumb was in his mouth as he chewed his nail. One of his eyes was purple, the edges faded brown and green. His mouth was bitten, swollen. Purple lines curved around his neck, darkened around his Adam's apple.

Alex approached. Leaned against the wall next to the other man, one foot propped flat against it. "Ricky."

Ricky exhaled. Bit the fleshy part of his thumb.

"That your brother's handiwork?"

Silence.

"Doc know what happened?"

Another exhale. Soft knock of his head against the stone facing. "Suspects. Told him nothin' was wrong and refused to let him use the fucking kit."

"You could be hurt."

A soft snort.

"How long has it been going on?"

"Why you care?"

Alex didn't answer.

"I'm not being another one of your projects. Travis is gone, Michael's hurt, so you turn to me? You really do get off on being a hero, don't you, FBI?"

"Not really. I just need to know that when I'm ready to come down, I come down on the right guy, that's all."

Another sigh. "I didn't want it to happen. Not even after... We weren't going to do anything to him unless he provoked it. Got in our way. Not even going to sic McNab on him or anything. Thought we were all agreed. Then Nicky flipped." He paused. "He's my brother, you know?"

"I know." He looked over at Ricky. "You know what I have to do."

Ricky met his eyes. "You don't need to kill him."

"Ricky..."

"The feds are looking for something he did. This guy they think he offed. But they can't find the body. I can't tell you where it is."

"Of course not."

"But. Before you killed him, Abruzzi told us some stuff about the escape. Places Michael hid things. Places you might know."

Ah. "Got it."

Ricky rose. "You didn't hear nothing from me. And you tell anyone 'bout what Nicky did..."

"You didn't deserve it."

"Save your psycho mumbo jumbo for someone who wants to be saved. I ain't looking for a savior. Not from you." He jogged down the benches and back to the block.

"Not from me," Alex agreed, watching him. "Just from Michael. Just like the rest of us, I guess."

* * *

"Lincoln. Lincoln?"

Lincoln opened his eyes. Blinked the gummy, blurriness from his vision. Rubbed drool from his chin. Sat up. Groaned.

"Stiff there?" Pam said with a small smile.

"Yeah. God." He rubbed his neck and tried to work out the kinks. "What are you doing here?"

She stepped back and put her hand on LJ's shoulder. "LJ wanted to see his uncle. So I brought him down.

"LJ." He stood. Pulled his son into a hug.

"Dad," LJ whined. He pulled away. "Come on, man. Don't be stupid."

"Sorry. Sorry," He straightened LJ's wrinkled tee-shirt. Brushed hair from his face. "I forgot. You're a man now. Can't hug me in public."

"Dad!"

"Sorry. Right." He beamed at Pam, who smiled back and hugged Cameron against her leg. Then he led LJ to Michael's room.

Michael was lying on his side, watching TV.

"Mikey. Look who came," Lincoln said.

He rolled over. Broke into a grin when he saw LJ. "LJ. Hey!"

"Hi, Uncle Mike." LJ was blushing, shuffling his feet. After a moment, he crossed the room and gave his uncle a hug.

Michael held onto LJ tightly, knuckles almost white at he did. His face was in LJ's neck, smelling. He always did that. When he'd been a kid, they'd seen this movie where a girl smelled people to help cement them in her memory. Michael had latched onto the idea and made it a habit now. Even though he'd smelled them all a million times, he still went for the neck, sniffing and holding on tight.

LJ finally pulled away. Brushed his hand over Michael's shorn head.

"Yeah, I know," Michael said, blushing. "I thought I wouldn't do it again, but it's easier to take care of."

"But you're always cold."

"It'll be summer soon. Until then, I can wear a hat."

"Yeah, I guess." LJ grabbed a nearby chair and sat. "Look, Uncle Mike. I'm sorry about the way I was at the prison the other day. I know I was a jerk."

Michael raised the back of the bed. Then he rolled over to face LJ. "Don't worry about it. I know how hard it is for you to go there. You were there for your dad, which was hard enough. Then you got sent there on trumped up charges. I'm surprised you come at all."

"Yeah, but," LJ sighed. Raked his fingers through his hair. "Pam and I were talking last night. And I told her about when they took me to Arizona, and I had no idea what had happened to you and Dad. I was in my cell, like, all the time. All I could do was read and, yeah, I had a TV, but still. I was really lonely. And you've gotta be lonely too. She asked if I missed you, and I do. I really, really do, Uncle Mike." He reached out and squeezed Michael's arm lightly. "I've missed you ever since you started planning to break Dad out. You just haven't been there. Not like you used to be."

"I'm sorry," Michael said. He covered LJ's hand with his own. Lincoln noticed his eyes were somewhat misted.

He shook his head. "No, it's fine. Because you did it. You got my dad back. And you... you gave me back to him like he never was before." LJ sniffed.

Lincoln wanted to go to him, but sensed that now it wasn't the time. If it wouldn't draw attention to him, he'd leave them alone. Let them repair the bond they'd shared since LJ had been born and Michael had been around more than Lincoln. The bond that had broken when Lincoln had finally convinced Michael of his innocence and thus stolen his brother away from his son.

"You gave me so much, Uncle Mike. I only wish you didn't have to be where you are. And I feel guilty and scared and stupid that you're there."

"LJ..."

"But the thing is," LJ interrupted. "The thing is, I miss you. And I know that prison's lonely. And if I go to visit you and sit there and be miserable, then I've wasted time. Our time. And I feel worse later. And I don't want to make you feel worse later."

Michael winced. Pushed himself up and opened his arms.

Despite his whining in the hall earlier about being hugged, LJ went to his uncle willingly. Hugged him tightly, looking like he wasn't going to let go.

Lincoln took advantage of their distraction to slip into the hall.

Pam was sitting in the seat he'd abandoned earlier, Cameron next to her. He was looking avidly at a "Finding Nemo" picture book and pointing things out to both Pam and his stuffed fish.

"Everything all right?" she asked.

He dropped into the seat next to her. "Thank you," he said. Hesitated, then wrapped her in his arms in a fierce hug. "Thank you so much."

She laughed, startled. Rubbed his arm. "You're welcome. For what?"

"Whatever you said to LJ." He pulled away. "For talking to him. For... For I don't know. Whatever you did."

"It's not permanent," she said. "He's a teenager and dealing with a lot. I was just a sounding board. Sometimes people need one. One not related to them. Or paid by the hour."

He smiled. Nodded. "Yeah, I know. I just... I've been lost. Michael's been more a father to him growing up. I had him weekends and even then, most of the time I was off trying to find a way to make money. Lisa loved Michael, and she'd let him take LJ after school and weekends whenever he wanted. Of course, he took LJ to museums and book festivals and concerts while I was taking him to movies that were too scary and arcades and feeding him too much sugar."

"You did your best. And you'll continue to do your best. Just remember to talk to him. Listen to him. And do things with him. You can take him places, too. Maybe not museums, but I don't see anything wrong with arcades. Or baseball games or... whatever. Ask what he's interested in."

"You make it sound so easy."

Pam rolled her eyes. Reached out to her son and ruffled his hair. "My audience is a six year old. It is easier."

"But you helped LJ. Yesterday, he refused to come when I asked if he wanted to. You got him here and talking to his uncle."

"I just put things in perspective."

Lincoln met her eyes. Leaned forward and said, "Thank you. You're, really. It's all too much."

Her face grew serious. She paced her hand on Lincoln's and squeezed. "You might think what you did back at the prison was something small, but it wasn't. I've been doing that for four months. Before that, it was Alex's trial. It's living with the knowledge of what he did. Of the garden we used to sit in together contains the body of the man he killed. And while I'm glad he's dead, at the same time, because of him, I lost my husband. It's not easy being a single mother. It's not easy having your husband in prison and your son's teacher look at you sideways and other mothers talk about you behind your back. For your son not to have friends he can play with outside of school because they're too afraid to let their kids come over or your kid go there. I'm tired and lonely and have a son who misses his daddy. And then you come over and offer us some genuine human kindness. That meant a lot." She squeezed his hand again. "So. Our boys are in there together, supporting each other. And we're out here. Might as well support each other."

She had very pretty eyes, Lincoln noticed. Big and dark.

He quickly pushed that thought aside. This wasn't the time or place, and she...

"Makes sense to me," he finally said. "If you ever need anything..."

"Oh, you'll be right across the street," she said with a smile. "And, believe me. I plan on crossing it sometime."

A warm glow suffused him and he returned her smile.

* * *

He waited until the next morning to make the call. The phones were located in the commissary and could be used any time it was open provided the inmates had sufficient funds.

The FBI had a tip line, of course, but Alex still had contacts and friends within the Bureau. The man he called now was... one of those.

"Special Agent Wheeler."

"Hi, Wheeler," Alex said.

"Alex." As usual, Wheeler's voice dropped and flattened at hearing Alex's. He cleared his throat. "How are you?"

"Fine. And yourself?"

He cleared his throat again. Ever since Alex had turned himself in to Wheeler's custody, the other man had been uneasy around him. "Fine, thank you. So. What's, uh, new?"

"Do you know who's working on the Esposito case? Nicholas Esposito?"

"Yes," he replied guardedly.

"I have a tip on where to find a body that they're searching for."

"Really? And what do you want for this information?"

Alex considered asking for his freedom, but Wheeler wasn't one to take jokes easily. "Only the assurance that this will be enough to get him transferred to another prison, or at least into maximum security."

"Well... of course. It's a murder charge. Right now he's serving for weapons smuggling. Finding that body would be exactly what we need to lock him away for good. Where is it?"

"There are a few places it might be. I'm about 98% sure it's in a cemetery, in Oswego. The headstone reads E. Chance Woods."

"That's the one Scofield used, isn't it?"

"And Abruzzi was there to dig up the empty grave. He lived long enough to pass the information along to people who might need one of those."

"I'll check it out. Thanks." He was silent a moment, then said, "Are you sure him being transferred all you want?"

"Actually, no. I wouldn't mind more information on the Esposito's. Both of them, the twins. Personal history. I'm trying to get a feel for the family."

"What for?"

"Curiosity. Nicholas just sent my cellmate to the hospital. He also raped his own brother."

"He what?" Wheeler sounded aghast.

"What I'd really like to know is how the family views each boy separately. Anything you have, I'd appreciate."

"I'll see what I can do," Wheeler said. "Do you want me to mail it to you, or..."

"Or what? Bring it to me?"

He cleared his throat. "Well, uh. Yeah, I guess."

Alex smiled. "I'll leave that up to you. Thanks."

"Thanks for the tip."

Alex hung up and left the commissary. A guard accosted him on his way back to his cell.

"Mahone. Doc wants to see you."

Alex sighed. In the past couple days, he'd had about six of those fucking Ensures, a scoop of cottage cheese at each meal, and milk at dinner. He was so sick of the Ensures. The only up side to this was he got daily snacks without having to buy them at the commissary.

He followed the guard to the infirmary. Was led to a room. Not an exaimination room, but a room. With a person inside.

"Doc said you needed to wait here. I'm locking the door, so don't get any ideas," he said with a nod at the other person.

Michael visibly refrained from rolling his eyes. "Sure thing, boss."

The guard left.

Alex let out all his breath. Tried to say something, but no words came. Crossed the room instead and caught Michael in his arms.

"I missed you," Michael whispered into Alex's lips when they finally broke away. He kissed Alex again, mouth warm, tongue gentle. His hands were in Alex's hair, twisting strands around his fingers just like Alex used to do to him. "God, I've missed you so much."

"Me too." He kissed the corner of Michael's mouth. "I don't know how I'll stand it while you're in the psych ward to recover."

"Believe me, I don't want to go." Michael sucked on Alex's lower lip. "I've been trying to convince the doctor that I'm fine, but he's worried. The surgery, and my lungs and everything." One of his hands ran down Alex's back. Pulling up his shirt and underneath. Up his back, palm pressed against his spine. Over his shoulder blade.

Keys rattled at the door.

Michael and Alex broke apart quickly. Alex dropped into a chair and tried to cross his arms over his chest as casually as he could.

Dr. Parsons stepped in. Looked at both of them. Sighed. "Jesus Christ," he said. "Just... he just had surgery, and has injured ribs. He needs to be careful of his lungs, Alex. And you should know better, Michael."

Michael just blinked innocently at him.

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Too many endorphins to feel pain and too many pheromones to think, I'd imagine." He crossed to the sink across from the bed. Opened a cabinet. When he turned, he threw a strip of condoms at Alex. "I am *not* encouraging this. Especially not now. But don't be stupid." He reached in again, this time producing a tube of lubricant. "I don't know how I'm going to explain this one," he muttered as he gave it to Alex. "Just keep it hidden."

Face burning, Alex nodded. "Yes, doctor."

"Yeah, well. Just... be careful. It's prison. Not... not anywhere I'd want to start a relationship."

"What choice do we have?" Michael asked mildly.

"True. I..."

"Doctor!" A nurse stuck his head in the room. "Conroy's collapsed in the yard."

"Coming." He went to the door. Looked back. "Don't use the condoms now. He's not ready. And Alex, I don't think you are either." With those words, he left quickly, slamming the door behind him.

Michael pulled his pillow to his chest. Looked at Alex. "He's probably right, you know. About you, I mean."

Alex sighed. Nodded. "I know." He took Michael's hand. Laced their fingers together. "Not for anything like this." He patted the condoms he'd placed in his pocket. "Unless you use them for... I'm clean."

"Me too." His smile was wry. Sad. "I haven't been with anyone in a long time. Except, uh, Sara, but, um. She was clean, too. And we were safe. And the, uh, knife certainly didn't give me anything." His voice broke.

Carefully, Alex leaned against the bed. Traced Michael's face with the tips of his fingers. The curve of his eyebrows. The lines of his nose. Around each nostril. Up his cheekbones and down the strong jaw. Over the lush lips. Across lashes, now damp.

"I'm sorry," Michael whispered. "I try not to think about it, but when I do..."

"Don't apologize." He pressed his lips into Michael's. "It's better to let it out. Deal with it, rather than repress it. I'm told it's the only way to heal."

"You're too good for someone like me."

This time, he rose and kissed Michael's forehead. Each cheek. His eyes before whispering against his mouth, "Someone like you is who I've always striven to be."

Michael wrapped his arms around Alex. Held him tightly, burying his face in his neck. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't say that." He pulled away. "I'm not... I'm not."

Alex traced his face. "You are to me." He kissed Michael again, but was interrupted by a rattle of keys in the door.

This time it was a nurse. "Mr. Mahone," she said. "I need to take you to an exam room. And, Michael, Rose will be here in a minute for your medication."

"Thanks, Daisy." He reached out. Curled his fingers around Alex's. "Be careful."

"Rest up." He squeezed, then followed the nurse reflecting that each time he left Michael, it felt more and more like leaving part of himself behind.


	11. Chapter 11

"So, you'll be living across the street from Lincoln Burrows," Alex said, rubbing his chin over the top of Cameron's head.

Pam nodded. "I just signed the papers yesterday. I hope you don't mind, but it's a great house and what with everything... It's been hard on us, flying out. And living so far away. I changed my mind about waiting until summer. We'll be moving in sometime early next month." She frowned, eyebrows lowered, looking in his eyes. "It's okay, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's fine. Whatever you think is best." Absently, he pressed a kiss into Cameron's temple. "Is it what you really want?"  
She thought a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I think it is. I love Chicago. Always have. I only moved to be closer to my mother, and now that she's gone..." She trailed off. "I left because what happened between us. I needed to get as far away from it as I could. Now I want to come back." She ran her finger over Cameron's ear. "I think it'd be better for him, too. We don't have many... We both need a new start."

"Are you sure here's really the best place for a new start? Here? I mean..."

She nodded. "I do. I've already got a friend."

"So I see. Lincoln Burrows, huh?"

Her cheeks colored. She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well. He's been very kind to Cameron and me."

Alex raised his eyebrow.

"Not like that," she laughed, blushing harder.

"Not like what, Mommy?" Cameron asked, looking up from the picture he was drawing for Alex.

"Nothing, honey. Daddy was just teasing me."

He smirked. "I didn't say anything."

"I can still read your mind, you know." She smirked back, then said, "You don't mind us moving here, do you? Across the street from him? I mean, I know that he has a history. A record. He didn't do what he was incarcerated for the last time, but I know he... has done things." Pam sighed and dragged her fingers through her hair. "If you don't want Cameron around him, I understand."

"It's fine, Pam. Really. From what I understand, Lincoln's done a good job of getting himself clean. Staying clean." He shrugged. "Michael swears his brother is a recovered addict and a good man. And I trust him. So, as long as he stays a recovered addict and doesn't, you know, start a crack house, I don't have a problem with my son living across the street from him."

Pam let out a breath. "Thank you." Rubbing Cameron's shoulder, she said, "I don't know him well, but he strikes me as a man who's slowly putting things together. His biggest worries are his son and brother. I can empathize."

Alex nodded. Kissed Cameron again. "What do you think, Cam? Are you ready to move?"

His son nodded enthusiastically and squirmed in Alex's lap until they were facing. "LJ said he was gonna teach me how to ride a skateboard, Daddy! And Mr. Lincoln is really, really tall, like a giant. And he putted... he put me on his shoulders once and I almost touched the sky!"

"Wow! You must have been really high."

Eyes glowing, Cameron nodded. "And I showed LJ Nemo on the TV, and their TV is really, really big like this." He held his arms out their full length. "And we was watching the movie, and I told him how I'm like Nemo, only my leg's hurt and not my fin, and LJ said that sometimes he's like Nemo too, because his daddy was lost and now his uncle's lost and he misses him. Like Nemo missed his daddy. And, Daddy, I miss you too."

"I miss you, too, Cameron." He kissed both of Cameron's, his nose, and then the tiny puckered mouth.

"Cameron, why don't you tell Daddy where Nemo is today?" Pam suggested.

Alex looked at his son expectantly, eager to hear where the ever-present stuffed fish was.

Cameron blinked wide, serious eyes. "LJ was sad because his Uncle Mike went back to prison. He wouldn't come out of his room. I left Nemo outside his room for him. And a letter. I think LJ needs him right now."

Alex sighed, his throat closing, tears prickling behind his eyes. He nodded. Pressed his lips into Cameron's forehead. "You're probably right, big guy," he managed to say.

Pam put her hand on Alex's arm. "Have you seen Michael?"

He nodded. "When they brought him back. Before he went to psych." His arms tightened around Cameron. "He seems okay. I mean... better than when he left. I think."

"And how are you?"

"I'm fine." Not exactly a lie. "They've, uh, got me on a new diet. Trying to get me to gain weight. I have to drink about a thousand of those Ensure drinks. I'm getting sick of them."

"I'm glad they finally noticed. I was getting worried. You're too thin, Alex."

"The food here is awful. And never enough."

She laughed.

He rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. I try to force it all down, but... Well, it's been better since the diet. Except for all the cons trying to bribe me out of the extra fruit."

"Why?"

"Anything with sugar can be fermented. And thus..."

"Ah."

"Mahone. Time to go."

He sighed. Tightened his arms around Cameron. "Okay, buddy. No tears this time. You're going to be back in a few weeks. Besides. You have to be strong for LJ, right?"

Cameron set his chin. Nodded. "Right." He kissed Alex and threw his arms around his neck, hugging tightly. "I love you so much, Daddy. I miss you."

"I miss you, too. So much." He squeezed his son, feeling the small heart beating. Covered his face with kisses. Then put him into Pam's lap. Leaned over and kissed her. "Take care."

"You too."

This time, when he went back to his cell, he was alone.


	12. Chapter 12

The first week in the psych ward wasn't too bad. At first. Between the pain in side and the drugs he was given, Michael was almost completely out of it. He was given a room (private, with a door instead of bars) that resembled the room he'd just left at the hospital. An oxygen monitor on his index finger and oxygen tank next to the bed. An adjustable. A bedpan, just in case he couldn't make it to the toilet. A private bathroom. A lot of white, including his pajamas and day clothes. A robe.

He did a lot of sleeping the first week. The drugs and exhaustion kept nightmares at bay. He drifted through the day, idly leafing through magazines and books when he was awake, taking frequent naps, and picking at the food that was brought to him.

Around the seventh day, when he opened his eyes, he felt different. More together. Lucid. He lay in bed, taking stock of his body, how he felt. The pain in his side had dulled to an ache instead of the sharp, stinging pains he'd been feeling since the attack. It was easier to breathe, too.

The door was unlocked. Rose walked in.

"Good morning," she said brightly. "You're not usually up yet."

"I'm feeling better," he said. He shifted onto his back. Raised the bed so he could sit up. "My head's clearer."

"That's not something we hear very much around here," she said wryly. She clicked the top of her pen and started jotting down notes on the clipboard she was carrying. "All right, boy, you are oxygenating at one hundred percent this morning. Excellent. I'm going to do your blood pressure now, so just hold on." The cuff tucked into her scrubs wrapped around his upper arm; she pressed the stethoscope against his inner elbow, just above a nearly faded bruise.

Michael swallowed and looked away.

"All right. Good." She undid the cuff and draped the stethoscope around her neck again. "And your pulse."

"Do I have to stay in here today?" Michael asked.

"No, of course not. You're not being punished. Well. Besides being incarcerated, of course. But there's a common room down the hall with a TV and books and puzzles and games. We've got you with the safer inmates, of course. Mostly bipolar, DID, schizophrenics whom we can handle easily when medicated. And there are a couple men with unpredictable epilepsy and one diabetic who needs constant monitoring."

"And here I thought psych was just for the loonies."

Rose smiled. "Are you up for a shower today, or do you want to do another sponge bath?"

Michael licked his lips. He wished he could even think of a joke for that. Even though Rose wasn't smiling. Even though sponge baths had a new level of terror for him that he'd never thought possible.

"I'll... I'll try a shower."

"Okay. Let me go set up everything in the bathroom for you. I'll be right back."

After she left, Michael slid his legs out of bed. Pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

He wanted to go home, but that was dangerous thinking. Squashing it ruthlessly, he latched on to something more concrete. More real.

Alex.

He wanted Alex.

The moment Michael had stepped into the cell and seen Alex, he knew. Knew that it was fate or destiny. Whatever. Whatever circumstances had led them together again, Michael knew he had to take advantage of it. Getting to know him was obvious. They had years ahead of them and compatible minds, as the chase had proved. But what Michael wanted...

He hadn't expected it to be so easy. He'd expected to have to seduce Alex. Manipulate him. A straight man with a wife and kid he loved. A man who was as stubborn as he was. Michael had expected it to be a challenge.

And it was, but not in the way he'd expected. For an entire day, he'd tried to figure out what Alex would want. What his type was. The best way to appeal to him.

But Alex wouldn't give it. Wouldn't give him anything but mixed signals. Held him at arms length.

Until the shower. And then he knew and...

It'd been a relief. To have Alex honestly want him for him and not for some part Michael was going to have to play. Some part of himself that he shared and not... all of it. But Alex seemed to want him and Michael really... he really liked that.

He just needed to get back to him.

"Okay. Towel's on the rack, water's going," Rose said, coming back in. "There's a chair in there if you get tired. Be careful of your finger," she added as she helped Michael out of bed. "The gauze can get wet, just try not to catch it on anything. It'll hurt like hell."

"Thanks." He hated that he limped, even though his legs didn't hurt. They were weak, though, and listed to favor his ribs. He shuffled like an old man half bent over.

Rose closed the door most of the way behind Michael, leaving him alone. With a shaky hand, he undid the pajama top and dropped it on the floor. Next were the pants, and he was careful not to look. Didn't want to see the stitches he knew were there. The hair he knew was gone.

He stepped into the shower. Raised his face into the water.

Whenever you tried not to look at something, that was all you wanted to do. He squeezed his eyes shut. Fumbled for the soap and wash cloth. Washed as best he could, trying to get the stink off him. Stink of terror that had been with him since it'd happened.

It didn't come off.

His fingers brushed stitches. Shied away from them. Avoided sensitive areas, cleaning them out without looking, without touching, without thinking.

Got out of the shower shaking. Grabbed the towel and wrapped it around him. Dropped to the floor and felt around for the toilet. When he found it, retched.

"Oh, baby," he heard Rose sigh behind him.

"Sorry," Michael gasped. He forced his eyes opened and flushed the toilet. Still shaking hard, he forced himself to his feet.

"Let me help you." Rose wrapped her arm around his waist. Helped him get a drink and wash his face, then go back to bed.

He couldn't stop shaking.

"All right, I'm going to go get your breakfast. You just breathe and try to relax, okay?"

"Okay," Michael said. He was cold.

"Your door will be open all day if you feel up to going out there. And your counselor's going to be stopping by. I'm telling her what happened this morning, so don't think you can hide it."

He nodded. "Yeah."

Rose sighed and gave him a sad smile. "You sit tight, baby boy. I'll be right back."

Michael watched her turn, but was buried under his covers before she even left the room.

This was ridiculous. He wasn't like this. Wasn't this man. Not someone who hid beneath the blankets and waited for the sick feeling in his stomach to go away. He wasn't a fucking victim.

But the shaking wouldn't stop and the sick feeling took hours to go away. By the time it did, he was exhausted and fell asleep. When he woke, his counselor was sitting in a chair.

"You're up," he said. "I was about to wake you."

Michael rubbed his eyes and pushed himself into a sitting position "What time is it?" he ask. His mouth was sticky and gross.

"It's about eleven-fifteen." His counselor, Robbins--technically a psychologist, but he told Michael to drop the 'doctor', supposedly to make it more intimate--handed him the water from a nearby table.

"Oh." He gulped down he water. Wiped is chin. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. I felt good this morning. I planned to go out to the common room."

"You still can. We can go out there and have our session. Everyone's used to psychologists showing up and commandeering a corner."

Michael shrugged. "Maybe." He knew that his voice didn't have any conviction.

Robbins tilted his head and said, "Well, maybe we'll start out in here and see."

"Okay." He drank again.

"Rose tells me you had a bad morning."

Michael shrugged.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

He heaved a sigh. "I took a shower and freaked out. Threw up. I couldn't stop shaking."

"She said you've been having problems all week. Any time she or the doctor checks the injuries in your genitals. And your anus."

Michael shuddered. "Yeah."

"What's going through your mind?"

"Right now?"

Robbins just looked at him.

"I don't know. I don't... think." He looked at Robbins. "You don't believe me, do you?"

"I believe that you don't know what you're thinking. That whatever thoughts trigger the emotions are quickly overwhelmed and drowned out by those emotions. What we need to do is find ways to keep you thinking, to talk yourself down from the panic attack before it becomes too much."

He rubbed his eyes. "This is stupid. Isn't it healthy to feel scared? What happened to me was terrifying. Don't I have the right to be terrified?"

"Of course it is. And it's natural that, right now, it's a bit overwhelming when you experience these feelings. But our job is to work to make sure it doesn't remain overwhelming. To get you well enough to..." He stopped abruptly. Frowned.

Michael gave a bark of laughter. "To get me back to Gen Pop." He rubbed his forehead, thinking of the up side. Thinking of who waited for him in Gen Pop. "How long do you think it will be before I can go back?"

Robbins shook his head. "I wouldn't worry about that right now. The warden is good about letting men in here heal. Not just physically, but mentally. The psych ward is the best in the state. I've lost count of how many grants he's written to get the health care we have. As long as you don't milk it, become obvious that you're trying to stay, he'll let you stay as long as you need."

"I. I, uh. I want go back."

"I beg your pardon?"

He swallowed. "I want to go back. To Gen Pop. As soon as I can." He licked his lips. "I don't belong here."

The psychologist leaned forward, resting his forearms on thighs. "It shouldn't be a stigma, being here."

"It's prison."

"It's prison there, too. Much more dangerous, as you found out."

"I don't want to stay here."

"You've been here a week. You haven't even been out of your room. You're still shaken by what happened and you're not thinking rationally. Michael..."

"I'm not saying I want to go back right this minute," Michael interrupted. He couldn't stop moving his hands; his entire body felt restless, too full of energy. After a moment, he climbed out of bed, pacing, rubbing his hands together as he moved. "I just don't want to be here long. I get... depressed when I'm around people who are mentally ill. I start picking up on their problems, making them my own. Oh, and my own so-called gifts turn against me and I can't stop analyzing *everything* I see. So, yeah, I want to get out of here as soon as possible and around people who are... normal."

Robbins tilted his head again. Studied Michael. "Is that the only reason?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Last time we talked, you mentioned that you missed your cellmate. I'm wondering about your relationship with him. What's going on?"

"Nothing." He kept pacing. His side was beginning to ache from the movement and it hurt to breathe. "Something. Maybe. But it's not important."

"If you're trying to avoid healing or facing what happened to you to be with him, then it is important," Robbins said, sounding perfectly reasonable.

Michael leaned against the wall. His breath came in short pants, side aching so badly there were tears standing in his eyes. "I'm not. Do you think I want to have a panic attack every time I have to wipe? I can't even..." Shit.

A bitter taste flooded his mouth. He swallowed, forced himself to breathe through his nose. Count the dots on the wall.

Robbins's voice broke into his thoughts. "What are you thinking, Michael?"

"I don't know."

"You're okay here. You're safe. You're far away from the people that hurt you. I'm the only one with you. The only one in the room. Just breathe and focus."

The pads of Michael's fingers pressed into the wall. Breathed.

"What are you thinking?"

Michael let his head fall against the wall. "I didn't know what he was going to do," he whispered. "He threatened to cut off my dick."

"How did that make you feel?"

"That's such a stupid question."

"No, it's not."

"How do you think I felt?" Michael shouted. "I freaked out. I was scared. Terrified, okay? And when he stuck the shank in me I was even more scared because I don't want to die!" His strength gave out. Michael sank to the floor. It hurt so much to breathe. It just...

Robbins was in front of him. He'd dragged the oxygen tank over to Michael. "Okay, Michael. Good. Just breathe." He slipped the mask over Michael's nose and mouth. Turned it on.

"It hurts," Michael sobbed softly.

"Just breathe. I called Rose, she's bringing something for the pain."

He shook his head. "Not that."

"Ah." Robbins put his hand on Michael's arm an rubbed soothingly. "Tell me."

"I was just... so scared. Of dying. Of being hurt. Of being raped, even with a shank. And he just..." He closed his eyes, tears falling as he did. "I know he's gone. I know it's over, but I feel so sick when I see what he did. Touch..."

The door opened. Rose hesitated in the doorway, holding a syringe.

"I'm fine," Michael said, weakly waving her away.

"I need to check you, honey. Let's get him back to bed?"

She and Robbins helped Michael back to bed. Rose checked his vitals and decided he was well enough to forgo a visit from Dr. Parsons. By the time she left, Michael was feeling much calmer.

He wiped his eyes. "Every time I see the bruises and the stitches and... feel them. Have to think about what almost happened. I feel out of control. Gross. Disgusting."

"What makes you feel disgusting?"

He shrugged. "What was done to me. Having them pin me down. Feeling powerless. Knowing that he could do whatever to me and I wasn't going to be able to stop it." He swallowed. "I was scared. More scared than I've ever been for myself. Just... like a sick scared. You know?" He blinked, eyes stinging. "And, yeah, I still want to go back to Gen Pop as soon as I'm ready. Because Alex, my cellmate, is the smartest man I've ever met. And, yes, the most attractive. But even if he wasn't, he's smart and clever and I can talk to him however I want and he'll understand what I'm saying." He blinked again. Looked at Robbins. "For the first time in a really, really long time, there's a person in the world I can be myself with. I don't have to dumb myself down or explain every other thing I do or say to him. He'll just get it. And I want to get back there. Especially now since I don't quite fit in my body anymore."

"It's not something that's going to happen all at once."

"I'm not stupid!"

Robbins let out a soft sigh. "I know, Michael. I'm just making sure you're not going to try to get ahead of yourself. Rush through this."

Michael pressed against his eyes. "I need something to work for. Like, something I should be able to do. Dr. Parsons wants me to work on being able to walk around without it hurting my side when I breathe. What should I be working for psychologically?"

He rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. "Before you're able to return to Gen Pop, you'll have to be able to shower and touch your body. So why don't we start there? Focus on talking yourself away from the panic and accepting the violation. Taking ownership again. Once you feel comfortable again, then we'll talk about moving you back."

Michael sighed and twisted the covers. "What about Alex?"

"What about him?"

"Will I ever get to see him? Before I go back?"

"I don't know. That will be up to the warden. You're not related or married to him. Technically there is no reason you should get to see him. But," he said in a different tone, "I guess we'll see what happens."

Michael nodded. Set his jaw. Even if he didn't get to see Alex before he went back to Gen Pop, he still had something to look forward to. Alex was his pot of gold at the end of the tunnel.

* * *

"LJ get back here!"

Pam looked up from her computer as Lincoln's voice bellowed from across the street. Swiveling in her chair, she pulled up the shades and looked out.

LJ was storming across the lawn. His face was bright red, a mask of anger.

"LJ!"

"I hate you!" LJ screamed. He turned, fists clenched by his sides. "You're the worst thing that ever happened to me."

"Get in the house. Now!" Lincoln didn't look much better than LJ, face twisted and dark.

She sighed and pushed out of her chair. She made it to the front door just as LJ was proclaiming to the world, "I wish you had died instead of Mom!"

Lincoln blanched. Body slumped.

"LJ!"

He turned. Tears were standing in his eyes. "He sucks."

"I know. Come here," Pam said. She was on the sidewalk, waving him over.

He closed his eyes. Shook his head. The tears rolled down his face. "I... Why can't everyone just leave me alone?"

"Come over here and be alone. I won't bother you, I promise. But I don't want you running off. Just come here."

He whined deep in his throat. But at least he stomped across the street, passed her, and into the house.

"What's going on?" Pam asked. She crossed the street to Lincoln and put her hand on his arm.

He sighed. "He failed a math test. I asked what was going on, and he flipped."

"All on his own, huh?"

Lincoln had the decency to look ashamed. "Okay, no, not on his own. I..." He sighed. "I don't handle things right. Especially because I know he's such a smart kid and can do better than what he's currently doing. And Michael called today. Told me that he might be going back to Gen Pop soon. He's excited because he misses Alex, but I'm worried."

"Michael will be okay, Lincoln. They transferred the man who attacked him almost a month ago. And you know how much Michael hates it in the psych ward. He's done nothing but complain since transferring there."

"I know, I know." He rubbed his hands over his hair. "He's always hated being in anything that hints of a mental institution. When he was about seventeen, eighteen years old, he started having trouble focusing. Sleeping. His psychologist suggested he go to a sleep clinic and Michael freaked. Started drinking to make himself go to sleep until I..." He broke off. Blushed.

Pam smiled crookedly. "Beat some sense into him and forced him to go?"

"Yeah, something like that." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I was with his agent today. She wants to set up a show, thinks he has almost enough work to rent out a studio. I saw some of the stuff he drew for his psychologist. You know, the ones about his body?"

She shuddered slightly, remembering. When Michael had first finished the pieces and sent them out of the prison, Pam had been there with Lincoln to see them. They were beautiful. Powerful. And disturbing. Michael, naked, the cuts and bruises on his body not stitched together with thread but words. Words that read, "Little punk boy ain't so tough," and, "Think you're better than the rest of us," and, "Does he just want your tight ass to pretend it's his wife's cunt." And on and on.

Very raw. Very hurtful. Very real.

She'd suggested Lincoln not look at them, but he forced himself to. Every time he was around the pictures, he studied them as if thinking he could heal the wounds with the force of his gaze.

"You need a break," she said. Squeezed his arm. "Go on. Go out tonight, don't worry about LJ. See a movie. Get a drink. Go... shoot pool or play video games. Go pick up women."

"Well. No."

"Just go." She smiled and pushed him gently. "I'll take care of LJ. He can spend the night. You two need some time away from each other."

He sighed. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Go. Have a good night."

"You'll call me if he acts up?"

"You're number one on my speed dial."

Lincoln nodded. Smiled. "Thanks, Pam. I owe you one."

"I'll cash it in. Don't think I won't." She threw him another smile, then went back across the street and into her house.

LJ was with Cameron in his playroom. They were stacking wooden blocks into tall towers, then crashing bulldozers through them. Cameron laughed hysterically every time the blocks fell. LJ was more serious, obviously finding it cathartic.

"LJ," Pam said after the third time the blocks crashed. "I made chicken wings for dinner. Is that going to be okay?"

"No," he said, voice heavy with sarcasm. "I'm a vegetarian."

"What's a vegtarian, LJ?" Cameron asked as he stacked the blocks back up.

"Someone who doesn't eat meat. Just vegetables and stuff. And, yeah, chicken wings are fine, Pam. Thanks."

"Vegetables? Gross."

"Wash your hands, guys."

"Can we knock it down first, Mommy?" Cameron's eyes were huge as he blinked back at her.

She smiled. "Last time. Then go wash your hands." As she went to the kitchen, she heard the smashing of blocks and her son's delighted shriek.

LJ was silent for most of the meal, talking only when she or Cameron said something to him first. He ate everything, although he did push around the broccoli with a crinkled nose before finally eating it.

She waited until they dessert--pudding cups, sugar free, no less--to ask, "What's going on in math?"

He sighed heavily. Dropped a spoonful of pudding back into the cup. "I'm stupid."

"Now that's not true."

"I don't get it!" he shouted. "It's like it's a completely foreign language and my brain is too slow to understand."

Cameron had been reduced to a pair of eyes peering over the edge of the table. His fingers gripped the wood tightly.

"Honey, why don't you go finish your pudding in the living room. Go put your 'Dora' DVD in. Okay?"

"Okay, Mommy," he said softly. Taking his pudding, Cameron slunk out of the room.

"Sorry," LJ said. He stirred the pudding roughly.

"It's all right," Pam said. She sat and just looked at him

He sighed. "Uncle Mike used to help me in math. He made everything seem really easy. But he's gone and Dad's too stupid to help me. And I'm going to grow up to be just like him. Stupid. A druggie. And in prison."

"Is that what you want?"

"No. But I'm going to flunk out of school. I'm a moron."

"I don't believe that. If you were, you wouldn't have understood it even when Michael did explain it. Doesn't matter how good a teacher he was, you have the ability to grasp is. It's there, we just need to figure out how to get it out." She ate a spoonful of pudding. "You know, I'm pretty good at math. I'm an accountant. I was a math minor."

"You don't have to do me any favors."

"Please. You come over and play with Cameron all the time."

"That's fun."

"It also helps me." She leaned forward. "It can't hurt. I mean, you're already over here, right?"

His cheeks colored and he ducked his head. "My books are at home."

"You can't walk over and bring them back?"

LJ sighed. Rolled his eyes. "Okay. Fine. But I'm warning you, I'm really bad. You're going to be sorry you offered to help."

"Let me be the judge, okay?"

He sighed again.

"Go get your books."

"Yeah, okay." He pushed back his chair and left.

A boy with low self-esteem, anger issues, who was convinced he was stupid. Oh, yeah. This was going to be fun.


	13. Chapter 13

"Wheeler," Alex said as he dropped into his seat. "Hi. I wasn't expecting you to visit me."

Wheeler shrugged. Pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I know. I've been busy and didn't have time to look into the Espositos like you asked me to."

His lips quirked. "I figured you'd forgotten about that. Not that I blame you. I know how the job is."

"Yeah, well. Here." He slid a file across the table to Alex. "You can keep it, if they let you. Basically a lot of interviews and such. Records."

"Any insights?" Alex asked, flipping through it slowly.

Wheeler drummed his fingers on the table. "Just that Nicholas Esposito is a piece of work. Been getting in fights since he was a kid. Killed a couple of animals, said it was an accident. Accused of raping his girlfriend when he was fourteen, but the charges didn't stick. Other accusations that were silenced as he grew. I know he's killed more than this one man we've finally nailed him on, but he's too well protected by his family. So.."

"What about Ricky?"

"Completely different story with that one. I guess he was born with his umbilical cord around his neck and has always had complications with his health. Identified as gifted at a young age. Put in accelerated programs. The sense I get about him is that he was the family's darling, expected to achieve great things, not necessarily join the family business, but still benefit from the money and whatnot. But his brother continually pulled him into it until they both ended up here." Wheeler adjusted his glasses. "I talked to Ricky's former roommate. And I say roommate loosely because it seems very obviously they were lovers. Anyway, about a week before Ricky was arrested, Nicky came to visit him. Kicked the roommate out. When he came back, Ricky was bruised. Not just from being beaten. There were teeth marks all over his torso and neck. And Ricky had a hard time sitting. They broke up the next afternoon and Ricky was arrested the next week."

Alex looked up, his hand splayed over the file. "You mean Nicky raped him before they were incarcerated?"

Wheeler shrugged. "If you look over Ricky's medical records, it seems like it started when they were in high school. Around when Ricky would probably have started dating."

"I almost feel sorry for the guy," he said, then took away the almost.

"Yeah, well. His brother's gone now, thanks to you. And he gets out in, what? Twelve years barring parole? As long as he stays away from his brother, he should probably be all right."

"I hope so."

"What's your interest in him, anyway? Why do you care?"

Alex sighed. Rubbed his forehead, tired. It'd been a long month. Time moved slower than ever after Michael had gone to the psych ward. "Like I told you before, his brother almost killed my cellmate. I thought he did it on Ricky's orders until I found out about their relationship. I just... I know Michael. He's going to want to find some way to mend bridges with Ricky, especially after he finds out what happened. I wanted to make sure Ricky was safe before that happens. I can't risk something else like this happening."

"So it's true," Wheeler said, eyebrow raised. "You're cellmates with Michael Scofield?"

"Yes."

"Is this going to be a problem? I mean, if you're planning on finishing off what you started..."

"The company's dead, David. And I definitely am not their puppet anymore. Michael is in no danger, not from me." He tapped his finger on the table, and added, "I've barely seen him all month. Maybe three times, when he happened to be in the infirmary the same time as I am. So..." He sighed and shrugged.

Wheeler tilted his head. Looked at him. "I guess I'm just surprised. You were intent on finding him and killing him. You made it seem personal. And now you're doing this to protect..." His face suddenly changed. "Oh."

Alex sighed. "Yeah."

"I had no idea," Wheeler said. He shifted. Cleared his throat. Pulled his glasses off. "I mean... I, uh..."

"Yeah, well, that makes two of us," he said, finding Wheeler's discomfiture mildly amusing. He'd never come out to anyone before, although this was less than a coming out and more of a clever agent getting the piece that finally solves the puzzle. "It's been a strange, long road to here."

He cleared his throat again, rubbing a cloth over the lenses of his glasses. "Right. I, uh. Okay." He swallowed and put his glasses back on. "I thought you were married."

"Look, I can't explain it. Really." Alex shrugged. "If it makes you feel any better, I was never attracted to you."

Wheeler laughed and blushed. "I'm being an idiot."

"Don't worry about it. At least you didn't run screaming. I appreciate that, since I'm trying to keep it quiet. Don't want people getting ideas."

"No, of course not." He shifted in his seat. "You're being safe, right? I mean, in there. I mean... not that I'm... I'm not asking about your... you know."

Interesting. Alex had never seen that shade of red on another human being before. "Trying."

Wheeler's phone rang. He answered, said a few words, then hung up. "I have to go."

Alex nodded. "Of course. Thank you for coming." He rose and held out his hand. "It was good seeing you. Thanks for coming."

Wheeler took his hand and shook it firmly. "You too, Alex. I'll try to get back some time. Just to visit."

"Thanks."

They said their good-byes and Wheeler left. Alex took the file with him after having it examined by a guard. Then he trudged back to his cell. Which had a small crowd gathered by.

"What the hell is going on?" he said, pushing through. "You shouldn't be in here without..." His voice died.

"Look who got sprung!" Jacks said, clapping Michael on the shoulder harder than he probably had to.

Michael winced and smiled crookedly at Alex. "Hey." He rose from the bottom bunk, hand outstretched.

Alex took it. Gripped it tightly. Couldn't let go, couldn't think of anything to say. Again.

"Doc thinks I'm ready to come back. Maybe," Michael said. "Unless something happens. You know. But, uh." He shrugged. "Here I am."

"Yeah."

"Dude, you're on cold motherfucker, aren't you, FBI," Jacks said. "Blueprint's been gone a month, man. You said you're his friend, and all you can do is stand here and not say nothing? Christ."

"Jacks. Why don't you shut the fuck up for once?" Randall said. He took Jack's by the arm and started dragging him from the cell. "It was good seeing you again, Michael. Glad you're back."

"Thanks Randall. O'Connell. Sammy, Jacks. I'll see you at dinner."

They left, leaving Michael and Alex alone.

Alone. Blessedly. Alone with a hundred other guys standing just outside. Guys with eyes and ears, just waiting for an excuse to...

An unexpected surge of anger went through him. His hand tightened in Michael's. "You shouldn't have come back." It took some effort, but he released Michael. Stepped back. "You should have stayed in the psych ward. It's safer. It's always safer, but especially right now. Things are tense. People are fighting. We're heading for a riot and you shouldn't be here."

"You need to calm down."

"You need to tell them that you're not ready to be here and go back to the psych ward."

"I can't! I was going crazy there!" Michael's hands raked over his head, through newly grown hair that glinted dully in the harsh lighting of the cell. "There's no one to talk to. Everyone's drugged to the gills except for the pedophile diabetic and the guy with epilepsy who brags about the women he raped. Oh, and Travis who, yeah, nice kid but a bag of hammers could beat him in a debate."

"Why Michael Scofield, I never realized what a snob you were."

"Shut up!" Michael grabbed Alex by the shirt. Shoved him back against the bunk. "It was hell in there, you don't even understand," he practically hissed. "I kept getting lost in stupid things. The carpet. This stupid painting full of nothing but swirls someone else did. I spent three hours studying it before someone realized. I can't.... I can't go back. I'd rather take my chances."

Alex's fists bunched in Michael's shirt. He pushed, propelling him across the cell, pushing him into the wall. "Take your chances? The danger isn't gone here, Michael. Nicky may be gone, but there's still McNab. Others. And you're still the most beautiful and smartest man in here. Might as well paint a target over your tattoos. If you get hurt... I can't do it again!"

"You think I can?" Michael's eyes flashed. He pushed, then yanked Alex back, holding tight. "You think I want to get hurt again? You don't think it terrifies me to be here. Surrounded by all these people, most of them stronger than me? Knowing that if they really wanted to, they could just..." He shook his head sharply. "I almost had a panic attack when they brought me back here. No one was even here, you were all at lunch." He licked his lips. "Dr. Parsons was with me, and Robbins. And the warden. And I had to hold it together, not fall apart, not lose it because I wanted to see you. Wanted to be back with you. I..."

"Count! Get your asses out here, cons."

They stood there, breathing heavily. Eye to eye, locked. Still.

"Eighteen! Mahone, Scofield. Line up!"

Michael let go of Alex's shirt. Alex stepped back, released Michael. They went out for count. Stood side by side, ignoring one another, at least on the surface. Every bit of them was aware. Every part of Alex tingled with the knowledge that Michael was right there, by his side.

"Cell time till dinner, boys. Think about your sins," the CO said.

They returned to their cell. The doors slammed shut, locking them in.

"Alex..." Michael started.

Alex shook his head. Backed Michael against the far wall, hidden behind the bunk. "I've missed you so much," he whispered against Michael's mouth.

"Me too." Michael's arms came around Alex's neck. Tugged him down.

The moment their mouths touch, fire scorched through Alex. He found himself pushing against Michael, holding him. Their mouths were fused, hungry, hot. Alex couldn't stop touching him, pulling Michael's shirt up, running his hands over warm skin. And Michael just clung to him, holding him tight, making soft, hot noises anytime they broke apart.

Everything was so hot. Sweat rolled along his back, over his neck. He tasted the salty tang on Michael as he kissed down his neck. Licked along his jaw.

Michael whimpered. Pressed his hips into Alex and, *God*. And then he was pushing back and they were rocking together. The air was thick and heavy. Murky. And they were rocking and his head was spinning. He couldn't think, didn't want to think, just crest along the wave as Michael pushed at him and kissed him and clutched at him, mouth hot and wet and shit and oh God and....

He grunted, the suddenness of his climax taking him by surprise. His hands tightened on Michael's hips, head fell against Michael's, forehead's pressed together.

"Oh God," Michael gasped, still rocking against him. "Alex. I..." He put a hand on Alex's cheek. Strained his neck to bring their lips together. Pushed one more time and came, face twisting as he did.

They stayed there, panting, pressed against each other. After some time, Michael's eyes opened. Looked up at Alex. He was so beautiful, face rosy and damp with sweat, eyes shining.

"So. Are you glad I'm back?"

Alex laughed breathlessly. Kissed him. "Yes. Yes, I'm glad you're back."

He broke into a smile. "Good. Me too."


	14. Chapter 14

Dinner was a crowded affair. People who hadn't gotten to hear the story of Michael's escape before the attack wasted no time in cozying up now. Michael was kept so busy recounting his story and contradicting the rumors that had sprung up in his absence ("No, I didn't fly over the wall. No, I didn't blow up the wall. No, we did not lock the guards in our cells") that he barely touched his dinner. Considering, he, like Alex, was on a special diet to help gain the weight he'd lost in the attack, this was not good. Alex found himself continually drawing Michael's attention back. Not that it worked. They ended up being the last people in the room, not allowed to leave until their plates were clean.

"I see your celebrity hasn't faded," Alex said, sipping at his Ensure.

Michael shrugged. "They'll lose interest. They just didn't have enough time to last time, and then people started making stuff up about the escape. That's all." He delicately took a bite of meat loaf. "Is it just me, or is this stuff actually worse than the normal food?"

Alex, his plate clean, rested his hand on his cheek and gazed at Michael. "I don't think I've ever met a more finicky eater than you."

He rolled his eyes. Took a bite of meat loaf that'd been drenched in gravy. Alex actually liked it, but Michael's nose wrinkled as he chewed.

"What?"

"I don't like biting into onion slices," he said. "It's gross." He stabbed the meat loaf, separating it. Then, slowly and meticulously, he began to pick the onions from meat, destroying the meat in the process.

"You ladies think you might finish this up tonight?" the guard asked.

"Yes, boss," Michael answered, popping the tiniest piece of onion-free meat into his mouth.

This continued on for some time. Michael systematically went through his portion of meat until all that was left was a pile of sliced onions drenched in gravy. This he scraped it to the side and turned to his vegetables.

Which he ate one at a time.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Alex groaned. He rested his head on the table.

"You don't have to wait," Michael said around a limp green bean. "I don't want to keep you or anything."

"Like I'm leaving you alone ever again. Seems like every time I turn my back on you, something happens."

Michael finished the vegetables and moved on to his rice. "You can't stay with me every minute of every day for the rest of our lives. Not only would it be unhealthy, but I don't want you to."

Alex rubbed his eyes. "I know. I..."

"I need to know I can be on my own." He looked up, eyes so incredibly blue beneath his pitch black lashes. "And I need to know that you know I can be on my own. That I'm not weak or something you need to protect."

He let out a heavy sigh. Nodded. "I know," he whispered. "And I want to give it to you." He pressed his fingertips against Michael's arm. "But still too new for me. You being back. Trying to process what happened. And, at least for tonight, I don't want to force it. I just want to stay with you."

"That's real sweet, Alex, but could you get your boy to fucking eat!" the guard practically shouted in his ear.

The both jumped. Michael quickly turned back to his food. In mere seconds, he'd finished off his rice and pudding. He downed his Ensure quickly, then slammed it back on the table, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. "Done, boss. Sorry."

"Just get out of here."

They walked together out of the dining hall and back to the cell. Alex began digging through the dresser for his shower kit. When the CO called, he glanced at Michael.

"Aren't you coming?"

Michael shook his head. "I showered this morning."

He hesitated at the opening of the cell. "So... you're going to shower tomorrow morning?"

"Naw, I think I'm good until tomorrow night."

"All right," he said. "I..." He stopped what he'd been going to say and joined the line for the showers.

Michael was reading when Alex got back. Reading and dressed for bed, already under the covers.

"Tired all ready?" Alex said, stowing his gear.

"A little." He stretched and crawled out of bed. "Want to play chess?"

"Sure."

The game was unremarkable. Michael won right before lights out. And then they sat, staring at each other in the darkness.

"We should probably get some sleep," Alex said.

Michael nodded. "Yeah." He slid his hand across the table. Laced their fingers together. "Except, I'm not really all that tired. Are you?"

Alex just stared at Michael, his mouth dry.

Michael rose. Tugged Alex with him. Climbed onto his bunk and scooted back, leaving room.

"You said you were tired earlier. What changed?" Alex climbed into bed. Wrapped his arms around Michael's waist.

"You're here now. I was tired when you were in the shower." He leaned in and kissed Alex. "I always feel tired when you're not around. I practically slept the whole month we were apart."

Alex threaded his fingers through Michael's hair. Twisted the strands as he pressed their mouths together.

Michael's mouth parted under his. Tongue came out and gently brushed against Alex's. And again. Deeper, his entire body getting into it. Hands clutched at Alex's shoulders, a strong thigh slid between his own. And then they were really kissing, hot, messy, breathless kisses. All over, not just his mouth, and Michael was sucking on his earlobe, mouthing along his neck.

"Jesus, I've missed you so fucking much," Alex growled into Michael's neck. He licked long his collarbone. Kissed the soft skin at the junction where his collarbones met.

"Me too," Michael said, a hard moan at the edge of his voice. He rocked his hips into Alex, his hard length pressing against Alex's. "Wanted you so much. Just wanted to get back, here."

Alex slipped his hands underneath Michael's shirt. Stroked down his sides.

Michael jerked back. "Don't."

"What?"

He shook his head. Came in for another kiss. "Just don't." Kissed him again. And again until Alex didn't remember what they'd been talking about, just that Michael's body was warm and alive and his mouth so sinfully perfect.

"God," Alex groaned. Sucked on Michael's bottom lip. Slid his hand under the front of Michael's shirt and pet the soft skin. Over and over and...

Michael shoved him. "Stop it!"

Alex blinked. Pushed himself up. "What?"

"What, you want to see them? That's what you want?" he demanded, face twisted.

"What are you talking about?"

"You keep touching them, I assume it's because all you really want is to see them."

"See what?" Alex asked, seriously afraid Michael's personality had split.

Michael rolled his eyes and yanked off his pajama top. "There," he said, climbing out of bed. He spread his arms. "There, look. Look all you want."

Alex moved to the edge of the bunk. Looked up at Michael in confusion. "I don't understand."

"You need to see the scars on my dick too?" Michael moved to take off his bottoms.

Alex caught his hands. "I wasn't thinking about the scars."

"Bullshit."

"I wasn't."

"Then why did you keep touching them?"

"It was an accident. I didn't think. I couldn't even feel them."

Michael snorted. His chin was trembling.

Alex exhaled slowly. Reached out and took Michael gently by the wrists. Pulled him closer until he could see more of Michael's torso than blackness.

At first he saw nothing but the blue spider web of lines. Pale skin beneath. Ribs that stood starkly against the too-thin frame.

He started to shake his head when he saw it. A thin portion of raised flesh, off color from the rest. So slight and spare he never would have noticed had he not been looking. Lines that ran from Michel's back, over his sides, and down the front until they dipped underneath the waistband of his pants. Permanent testaments of what had been done to him.

"I'm sorry, Michael," Alex said. He looked up. "I didn't realize what I was doing. I just wanted to touch you."

Michael didn't say anything. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth and chewed on it.

"Is this why you didn't want to take a shower? You didn't want me to see the scars?"

He shrugged.

"It doesn't matter to me." He put his hands on Michael's hips. "I'd hoped it wouldn't matter to you. Not like this."

"I didn't think it did." His voice cracked. "I don't want it to."

Alex leaned forward. Kissed Michael's stomach. Up his sternum. Back down, laving his tongue over a nipple. Down the curving slope of a rib. Up the thin line of a scar.

At that, Michael gasped. Fell forward, bracing himself against the top bunk.

Gripping Michael's hips tighter, Alex continued his exploration. He kissed and nibbled along the wing. Up a crest of the window. Down the scar again. Over the gentle indent of his navel, which had Michael against gasping. Thrusting hips forward, the bulge of his cock rubbing against Alex's chin.

He ignored it. Continued moving, kissing. Tasting. Continuing up, up, up until he was sucking along the beautiful neck. Rising, kissing over the jaw. To full lips, already opened and panting. Wet and pliant and Alex just kissed him, hand cradling Michael's head in his hands. Walking him back and they were against the wall again, moving against one another. There was a bed behind them, and it definitely would have been more comfortable to lay back down but, right now, right here, rocking against one another, Michael's thigh between his legs, Michael's hands clutching at him, Alex didn't want to move.

"Alex," Michael keened suddenly, burying his face into Alex's neck. "Oh God." He sobbed, arms tightening. Coming, but shaking, shaking out of control, holding him so tight.

"Come on, Michael. Come here." Alex pulled Michael back to bed, laid him out. He quickly went to the sink, grabbed a washcloth. He wet it and came back. "Here."

Michael took the cloth and turned his back to Alex. Alex looked away as Michael cleaned himself, then took the rag when it was handed to him. Then he came back and climbed into bed with Michael.

"I'm sorry," Michael whispered.

"You have nothing to apologize for."

"I turned our reunion into..." He broke off, jaw tightening. Then he said, "You didn't even come."

"I imagine I will one day." He leaned in and kissed Michael. "I did earlier."

"You're not going to make me go back, right? I really don't want to go back."

"What am I going to say? I think you should go back to the psych ward because you're squeamish about having sex? Oh, yeah, that'll go over well. They'll think I'm forcing you."

"I doubt it. Dr. Parsons already know. And I think after the major freak out I just had, everyone else does, too. " He frowned. "I'm sorry."

Alex kissed him. "Don't be. We'll be fine." Kissed him again, not wanting to break away from the beautiful and sensuous lips.

Michael finally pulled away and yawned. His yawn provoked an answering yawn in Alex.

"Okay. Sleep time." Alex kissed him again, then moved to climb out of bed.

"No. Stay."

"You sure?"

He nodded. "If it's okay with you."

Alex nodded. Stroked Michael's hair and settled back into bed next to Michael. "All right." He kissed Michael lightly. "Good-night, Michael."

"Good-night."

* * *

Alex hovered the next morning. Not that he hadn't expected it, but it was still annoying. He didn't need a bodyguard, he didn't need a protector. He needed a boyfriend. Friend. Friend, not boyfriend. Alex didn't... he wasn't...

But what else was Michael supposed to think? They weren't quite lovers, and besides, Michael couldn't see himself calling anyone that. They weren't just friends, not with the sexual tension between them. Boyfriend was closest thing to call him.

The hovering was annoying.

As was the fact that, despite last night, Michael wasn't ready for Alex to see him naked. Getting through his first shower with the others was hard enough; Michael's heart had been in his throat the entire time. Luckily, he'd been given space, allowed to take the back corner of the showers all alone, everyone else a good few feet away. Michael wasn't positive why this had occurred, but he suspected Ricky, who was showering as well, had something to do with it. He just wasn't entirely sure why.

Breakfast was eggs, cottage cheese, fruit, and a muffin with blueberries in it.

"You have got to be kidding me," Alex said when Michael began to tear the muffin apart and pick out the blueberries.

"What you doing, Blueprints?" Jacks asked, stopping whatever he'd been talking about.

He sighed. "I don't like blueberries in my muffins," he said. He added another berry to the pile. "I always feel like I'm eating bugs."

"Gotta lot of experience with that, do you?" Alex said.

Michael flicked a blueberry at him. "What's going on with Ricky?" he asked, glancing over to where the other man was sitting. Alone, oddly enough, even though there were still members of the mob in Gen Pop.

"He's been hanging by himself since his brother got transferred," Sammy said. "Still has mob protection an everything. But he's not talking to no one anymore."

"Why?"

"Did FBI tell you about him and his brother?" asked Jacks.

Michael looked over at Alex.

He sighed. "Nicky's been sexually abusing him. He raped Ricky just before he attacked you. And I talked with an old friend from the department yesterday, got a look at Ricky's medical records. It's been going along for a long time. Seems that Nicky is very possessive over his brother. Doesn't want other people getting too close."

The world shifted so violently, Michael had to grab onto the table. His stomach felt abruptly hollow and there was a sour taste in his throat.

"He...I, uh... he..."

"Michael, calm down." Alex tried to grab his hand.

He pulled it back, the mere touch scorching him. "I can't..." He rose. Tripped over the bench trying to get out.

"Michael..." Alex crouched next to him, but Michael pulled away again.

"I need to go."

"You can't..."

But he wasn't listening. Just stumbling away as quickly as he could, blindly trying to just get away. Figure it all out. Think. He couldn't stay...

"Scofield! Where you think you going?"

Michael stopped. Blinked, trying to figure out where he was.

"You ain't supposed to leave the dining hall until someone's approved your plate," the guard said, approaching him. Then, on getting a closer look, he frowned. "You okay? You need to go to the infirmary?"

"No. No, I'm fine," Michael said, swallowing. He braced himself against the wall and shook his head. "I'm just a... just a...I just need to lay down, that's all."

"Doc says you need to eat all that food they give ya."

He shook his head. "I can't. Not right now. I'll just throw it back up."

"Then you need to go to the infirmary."

"Fine. I'll go to the infirmary."

Dr. Parsons was at the front desk when the CO brought Michael in. He looked up from his paperwork, mouth creasing in a thin line when he saw who it was.

"Thanks, Seth. I'll take him," he said to the guard. He took Michael by the shoulder and led him to a nearby room. "What's going on?"

Michael shook his head to protest, but his eyes were full of tears. "I'm just, uh. I'm just having problems adjusting, I guess," he said. "I... Last night, I was with Alex and I just freaked out at him. Accused him of having some kind of scar fetish or something. And now they tell me about Ricky and his brother. And that Nicky did this to me because... because he was jealous? And he was hurting Ricky. Raped him. And it was because of me."

"No, Michael, it wasn't," Parsons interrupted smoothly. "Nicholas Esposito is a very sick man. What he did to Ricky has nothing to do with you."

"But he was jealous of me. Because Ricky wanted me. And I don't even know why."

"Here." Dr. Parsons handed him a tissue.

Michael wiped his eyes and his nose. "I know I'm overreacting. But hearing this. Knowing that I had something to do with it. And that I wasn't attacked because I turned down their offer of protection. It makes sense suddenly, you know?" He wiped his nose again. "The attack was so vicious. So personal. This is why. It was a territorial war." He felt his face crumple. "I was in the way."

"Again, no. Nicky is sick."

"I'm sick. I can't... I don't want Alex to see me naked."

"You've just barely become able to see yourself naked again," Parsons pointed out. "You're still reclaiming yourself and your body. Maybe it's just not time for you to offer it to someone else yet."

"But he expects it. Expects that now I'm back, it means I'm better. And we can have sex."

"Does he expect it, or do you think he expects it and are pushing boundaries that you're not quite ready to push yet?"

Michael sighed. Crumpled the tissue in his hand. Wiped his eyes once again. "I don't know. I don't feel like he and I have done anything I'm not ready for. Except when he touched my scars and I freaked. But when we were just kissing and... uh, stuff. It felt good. Right. But when I think of being naked and him seeing me, I just... feel sick."

"Have you told him that?"

He shook his head. "I don't want to hurt his feelings."

"Michael," Parsons said in a chastising tone. "Alex is crazy about you. And he only wants what's best. He wouldn't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. If you're uncomfortable being naked around him right now, tell him. And then, the two of you can work on it. Together. At your pace." He handed Michael another tissue. "And as for Ricky and his brother, you have to remember that they've got a history that stretches back to the womb. Whatever abuse Nicky's done is independent of you. Even if he was jealous, raping his brother, attacking his brother's potential lover... it's something that would have happened anyway."

"But not to me," he whispered.

"No. Not to you, perhaps. You were victim of circumstance, Michael. It was personal on Nicky's end, yes, but you can't blame yourself. Or Ricky. All this pain, that was Nicky's doing. Not your fault."

"I know." But the sick, scared feeling wouldn't go away.

There was a knock at the door. It opened and a nurse stuck his head in. "Doctor? We need you."

"Okay, just give me a moment." The door closed again. "You going to be okay alone, Michael?"

"Yeah." He sighed and glanced over at the cot nestled against the wall. "Can I lie down for a bit?"

"Of course. Oh, did you finish your breakfast?"

He shook his head.

"I'll see if I can get something up here. You really can't afford to lose weight, Michael. You need to eat."

"Yes, Dr. Parsons."

"Rest. I'll be back." He got up and left the room.

Michael crawled onto the cot. Pulled the blanket around him and tried to find some relief in oblivion for just a little while.


	15. Chapter 15

"You hear from the kid yet?" O'Connell asked as he and Alex played a game of war in the rec room.

"Do you think I'd be here if I had?"

He shook his head. "You'd probably be in the cell with the sheet down, huh?"

"You suggesting something?"

"Course not. Sammy and I always have the sheet hung. Course we usually ain't in there at the same time, seein's how I'm in there to pray and he's usually snorting something." He laid a card down. "Then again, we all heard you last night."

Alex sighed. Rubbed his eyes. "Which part?"

"Him freaking out. Some of the rest, but only those who were listening." He tapped his fingers. "People are kind protective over him right now."

"I noticed."

"So you need to be careful."

He looked up, frowning. "What are you talking about? I'm not doing anything to him."

"I know that. But those who weren't listening to the words he was yelling and just the tone.... Kid was pretty panicked. I'd hate for you to be hurt because of a misunderstanding." He met Alex's eyes. "Then he freaked out again this morning..."

"You were there, that wasn't my fault."

"But they weren't there. They just saw him run." O'Connell spread his hands. "Look, Randall and I are too old to get involved in something like this. If something happens to you because someone declares war over that kid... We're too old, you know that."

"Bullshit," Alex said. "You're only a few years older than I am. You just don't want to get involved."

"It's kept us alive. And out of the infirmary. We do our time and no one else's. Don't get involved in petty disputes or fights. Keep our yaps shut, our eyes averted. We stay out."

"Can't even stand up for a friend." Disgusted with the company, he got off the couch and turned to go away.

"You're in prison now, Alex! You gotta stop expecting others to be a hero for you."

He turned, still walking backwards. "Yeah, I got it. You've got every prison saying down and tattooed in your memory. Wonderful. But remember this. You may be a convict whose word in here is as good as gold, but at least I'm still a man."

"Yeah, you the man, FBI!" some jerkoff crowed as he left the rec room.

He kept going, too angry to see where he was walking. Too pissed off and frustrated to care. Too...

"Alex." Someone grabbed his wrist.

He turned, ready to fight. A pair of wide blue eyes stopped him.

"Michael." He had to restrain himself from reaching for him, clenching his fists before he could take him by the face. He forced them back down by his hips. "Are you all right?"

Michael nodded. "I'm better now, yeah. I just... I'm sorry I freaked out."

"It's all right. I'm just not entirely sure why."

He blushed and rolled his eyes. "You know me. I blame everything on myself. This one seemed so easy. Ricky wanted me. Nicky got jealous. Everything that happened was my fault."

"You don't really believe that, do you?"

"I'm trying not to."

Alex opened his mouth, ready to tell Michael everything. The medical reports. The interview with the ex-boyfriend. A history of jealousy that had to have gone back years. The abuse born out of that jealous and twisted sick love, given a place to flourish in prison. A new excuse to do what he was already doing.

But then he closed his mouth. Took Michael by the arm. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Michael asked, stumbling slightly as Alex practically dragged him across the floor.

Alex didn't answer. Pulled Michael after him as he mounted the stairs.

"Yo, what do you think you're doing, FBI?" Paul Rossi demanded as he and Michael approached Ricky's cell. He and the other members of the mob came off the wall and formed a barrier.

Alex pulled Michael in front of him. "He and Ricky need to talk, don't you think?"

Paul rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well if he can get Ricky to talk, it'll be a miracle."

"What do you mean?"

"Ricky ain't talked in almost a month. Ever since his brother got transferred." He looked over Michael, then stepped aside. "Blueprints can be my guest. You? Not so much."

"Go ahead, Michael."

"Alex..."

"Go." He pushed Michael gently.

Michael nodded, walked through the line of mobsters and into Ricky's cell.

Alex stood where he was, hands in his pockets, waiting. He was well aware that he was being scrutinized by Paul and the others, not to mention Jacks and Martinez, who were across the cellblock. He tried not to let that bother him. Michael needed this. Being told it wasn't his fault by someone on the outside wasn't going to work. He wasn't going to believe it. Better to risk the idea that Ricky would blame Michael for what happened than Michael to convince himself of that.

"Just so you know," Paul said, "no one was supposed to touch the kid. We were to offer protection. If he didn't want it, we were just supposed to let him alone. Stop anyone from killing him, 'cause he did set Abruzzi free. But what Nicky did..." He shook his head.

"Michael isn't transferring cells," Alex said. "He won't be needing your protection."

Paul gave him a quick half smile. "Maybe, maybe not. This is prison, and your boy there is the prettiest piece around. You'll have to fight pretty hard if someone gets his mind set on him. Oh, and speaking of fighting..."

"Yes?" Alex pulled his hands from his pockets, ready, just in case.

"Whether or not Michael accepts our protection officially, as the man who gunned down in cold blood a member of our family, you are the number one enemy in this place. You want to keep him, you better make sure he's happy. Or else something might happen to you."

Amused and irritated all at once, Alex smiled blandly. "And you're to be the judge of how happy he is? I hardly think you're impartial."

Paul rolled his eyes. "Want me to spell it out? His eyes light up like Christmas morning when he sees you, you don't die. He spends the night screaming about you trying to touch him when he don't want it, you die."

"I did not hurt him last night," Alex hissed. He moved without thinking, grabbing Paul by the shirt.

Immediately, the others moved in, pulling him away. Pushing him back.

Paul smiled. Brushed the wrinkles from his clothing. Met Alex's eyes and took a couple steps closer. "I heard him last night. I ain't stupid. He had a panic attack. Freaked out. Why do you think you're not dead? And before you ask, no. If you two lovebirds have a spat and stop riding together, a hit won't go out."

So everyone knew. Or at least the mob did.

Alex stepped away. Crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. "I still think you're hardly impartial enough to judge."

"Please. I've got five years left on my sentence. You think I'm going to risk that for anything less than the real deal?" He leaned against the wall and adopted a pose similar to Alex. "Look, as long as we all keep to our own sides of the field and no one tries to fuck Mikey or my boys up, we might all just be able to get along. That good for you?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "All I ever wanted."

"Good. Then we have an understanding."

God. He hoped they did.

* * *

"Hey, Ricky," Michael said quietly after stepping inside. He'd been there for quiet a few moments and Ricky had yet to acknowledge him, yet to look up from the crossword puzzle he was working on.

Even the greeting was met with nothing.

Michael sighed. Sat on the edge of the bunk at Ricky's legs. "I came to apologize. For everything. For," he exhaled hard. Rubbed his eyes. "For not being better. More sensitive when I turned you down. I didn't realize I was turning you down. I hoped we could be friends, even if I didn't accept the mob's protection. I didn't know." He licked his lower lip. Pulled at the fingers on his right hand. "I'm sorry that Nicky got angry at you over me. That he was jealous. That he... hurt you because of me." He looked over at Ricky. "I'm so sorry."

While Michael had been talking, Ricky had finally put the crossword down. Lay there, head propped up by his pillow, looking at Michael through admittedly pretty moss-green eyes. "You're serious, aren't you?" he said.

"I am. I'm sorry."

Ricky rolled his eyes. "Go have a priest hear your confession, Blue-eyes. Ask God for forgiveness. I'm not the one you should be asking."

"Because you won't give it."

"Because there's nothing to forgive." He sat up. Moved closer to Michael. "Yes, I wanted you." He ran his thumb down the side of Michael's face. "Still do. You're beautiful, baby doll. Christ." Lips ghosted over Michael cheek, his jaw. Then Ricky pulled back. "You said no. Yeah, I was embarrassed. Yeah, I was pissed off at you. No, I didn't tell Nicky to attack you. And Nicky didn't exactly need an invitation to use me. It's an ongoing agreement. I'm the only one he has."

Michael blinked. "But he raped you."

"You can't rape the willing, doll."

"You weren't willing. He forced you. Alex told me what you looked like."

"When was this? Before or after he tried to make love to your scars?"

Stung, Michael leapt off the bed. Crossed his arms over his chest and hugged his body tightly.

"I'm right above you, baby. I hear things." Ricky smiled. "And about Nicky. He likes it rough, that's all." He rose from the bed and swaggered to Michael, pressing him against the wall. "I don't, if you're interested," he whispered in Michael's ear. "And want a man more your age."

He swallowed hard and tried to pull back as far as he could. Which was impossible since he was against a concrete wall. "It's not that I don't think you're attractive," he said, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

"It's just you're stupid crazy over FBI."

"Sort of."

"Yeah, sort of nothing." Ricky swooped in suddenly and kissed Michael. Before Michael had time to react, he pulled away and went back to the bed. "Don't beat yourself up about me and Nicky. We're fucked up from way back when."

He shook his head. "You don't have to let Nicky do that to you."

"Look. Nicky? Nicky's special, okay? Like the opposite of me. He got bad grades, had trouble with math and reading. I think he's dyslexic, but no one ever would test him. I had to help him pass everything. Only thing he was ever good at was fighting and fucking, you know? And he's as straight as an arrow. I'm... I'm the faggot. And when Nicky found out I was fucking guys, he went insane. Told me I was his. That I couldn't do that. Couldn't let other guys touch me. I was his. And then we started..." He shrugged. "We started fucking."

"He started raping you."

Ricky's face went blank. "You call it rape, I call it... giving something my brother needed. And maybe that doesn't make us quite so different, huh, beautiful?"

"No," Michael said, feeling hot and leaden and gross. "I guess maybe not."

* * *

Michael was silent when he emerged from Ricky's cell. Together, they walked back to their cell, getting there just as a fight broke out on the upper tier. It would have escalated, but the guards were in right away forcing people back their cells, locking them all in.

"Take the rest of the afternoon to cool off, gentlemen!" the head CO shouted. "Lunches will be bagged and brought to you so as not to inconvenience you too much."

Alex could have kissed whoever had started that fight. Time alone with Michael. Time to rest and relax and just... unwind.

He went to the bars and lowered the sheet. When he turned, Michael was stretched on his bunk, pillow against his chest, arm underneath his head. He looked lost in his thoughts.

"Mind if I join you?" Alex asked.

"Come."

He climbed over Michael and spooned behind him. Kissed the nape of his neck. "How did it go with Ricky?"

"I don't know." He sighed. Lolled his head back against Alex's shoulder. "He said it wasn't my fault. Fairly laughed in my face about it." His face scrunched. "He said... he said that he was just giving his brother what he needed. And that maybe he and I weren't so different."

Alex tightened his arms around Michael. "It's not true."

"Yes, it is. I mean, to a certain extent it is. Lincoln didn't want my body, but if he'd asked, I can't say I'd say no. Not if I though he really needed me." He licked his lips. "I was willing to do anything for him. Still am. Whose to say I'm any different?"

He didn't know what to say. Put like that, Michael had a point. Beyond even that, the sacrifices both men were willing to make for their brothers. They were both brilliant men. Sensitive. Gifted. Yes, Ricky was harder around the edges. Killed if not easily, at least more willingly than Michael (who, to date, had not, of course, killed anyone). But their motives...

But it wasn't the same. It wasn't.

"Michael. Michael, roll over. Please."

He did. Put his arm around Alex's waist.

"There's a difference. There really is, no matter what Ricky believes. The thing is, Lincoln never, ever would have asked you to give up your life to break him out. He would never demanded your body. Whatever you gave for him, you gave willingly. Without coercion or because you felt you had to. Yes, you felt you owed it to him. Bu you knew that if it came down to it, Lincoln would rather you stay safe in your loft, living your life. The only thing he would have asked would be to look after LJ, and that's just being family. What Nicky did... that was rape. Incest. Forced. And maybe Ricky has himself convinced he did it out of love, but you know that's not true." He caressed Michael's cheek with the back of his knuckles. "He knows it's not true, either."

Michael let out a long breath. "The stories we tell."

"What?"

"We tell ourselves stories. To cope, to get by. Our versions of what happened so we can live with the unlivable." He stroked Alex's chest. "I used to tell myself stuff about my father. That my family was better without him. That he must have done terrible things to mom and Lincoln. That he was really a secret agent or whatever. Stories because the idea that he left because of me--which of course I thought--was too painful to deal with." Michael sighed. Rubbed his thumb over Alex's lower lip. "Lincoln tells himself that his life got screwed up because of the money he borrowed to send me to college. But I think he borrowed that money because he knew that... he knew he couldn't hack it, you know? That he'd never be able to hold down a job, have a straight life. So he did that, even though I could have gotten a full ride of any college I wanted."

"What story do I tell myself?"

Michael shrugged. "I don't know. I like to think that you've stopped telling yourself stories. You're facing what you did. To Shales, I mean. And for the company. Stopping with the storytelling and facing reality."

"Maybe. Although I suppose there are still stories I tell to get through this. My son will continue to want to see me, to come and visit his father in jail even seven years down the line. That Pam will continue to make sacrifice after sacrifice instead of living her life. That this, between us... that it's real."

Michael leaned in and kissed him. Wrapped his arms tightly around Alex and held him close. "If this is a story, Alex," he whispered, "Then I'm never going to stop living it. This story feels more real than anything else in my life. Ever." Kissed him again. "Never stop telling this story. Just... never stop."


	16. Chapter 16

"Our next graduate is Cameron Mahone," Ms. Kim announced. "Come get your diploma, Cameron."

Cameron walked across the little stage the kindergarten teachers had set up on the playground. He was dressed in a robe made of butcher paper and a cardboard mortar board he'd decorated with Nemo and baseballs. A smile split his face as he accepted the piece of paper his teacher handed him.

"Yay!" Pam cheered, clapping. Next to her, Lincoln snapped what had to be the millionth photo.

Cameron waved at them, beaming. Then he joined the rest of his class on the other side of the stage as the teachers announced the rest.

"Ah, come on," Pam groaned softly.

Lincoln glanced away from the camera. "What's wrong?"

"Can you believe I'm actually tearing up?" she said. She sniffed. "It's not even a real graduation."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled tissue. "It's been a hard year."

"It has been a hard year," she said. She wiped her eyes. "God. Look at him. He has friends. He's happy. He hasn't taken the stuffed fish out of the house for almost a month." She smiled as Cameron laughed hysterically at something the child next to him said. "Thank you so much for telling me about the house." Pam turned to Lincoln. Took his hand and squeezed. "You have no idea how much better things have been since we've moved here."

"I have some idea," he said. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and kissed her on top of the head. "Considering I could say the same. I swear, Pam. You've been a lifesaver for me and LJ."

"And that is our class of 2008," Ms. Kim announced. "Now, if you'll all help yourself to cookies and juice. Be sure to check out our art gallery inside and please, take your child's work." She grinned. "You don't want to lose this stuff and, believe me, I don't want to have to deal with it all over summer."

The parents dutifully laughed. Rose and walked toward their children.

"Mommy, Lincoln, look!" Cameron ran to them, the robe ripping as he did. He stopped for a moment, pulled it off, and began running again.

"Cameron, you pick that up right now," Pam said. "Don't just leave it on the ground."

He sighed. Rolled his eyes--something he had picked up from LJ--and went back to the robe. After he picked it up, he continued to them. "Look! It says that I graduated!" He handed Pam the diploma.

"I see that! Congratulations." She crouched next to him and kissed his cheek. "You're a first grader now, baby!"

He beamed, practically glowing with pride. "I am!"

"Look up here, guys," Lincoln said.

They did. He snapped their picture. Then, he looped the camera around his wrist, bent over, and swooped Cameron into his arms.

"I am so proud of you, Cameron," he said, hugging him tightly.

Cameron hugged him back, then kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you. Can I go play now?"

"Of course, buddy. Here you go." Lincoln set Cameron back down and took his cardboard mortar board. "Have fun."

"Save me a cookie!" He ran to the playground.

Ms. Kim approached them. "Mrs. Mahone. Thank you for coming."

"Oh, I wouldn't miss it. Thank you again for being so good to Cameron. You made his transition here really easy. On both of us."

"It was nothing. He's such a great kid. Bright, friendly, imaginative." Her eyes slid to Lincoln and she smiled at him. Then her eyes slid back to Pam. "Just so you know, even though we haven't gotten the tests back, I think it's really likely that Cameron will be put in the gifted class next year."

"Yes!" Lincoln crowed. He pumped with one arm.

Ms. Kim laughed. "I'm sorry, I'm Ms. Kim. I didn't catch your name."

"Oh, I'm Lincoln Burrows." He shook her hand.

"It's nice to meet you. Thank you for coming out today to support Cameron. How long have you and Mrs. Mahone been together?"

Pam blushed. "Oh. Oh, no. We... We're neighbors. Friends." She nixed the idea of explaining their loved ones were incarcerated together; Ms. Kim knew that Pam's husband was in prison, but she didn't need to know everything.

Ms. Kim looked embarrassed. "Oh, of course. I'm sorry for assuming.... Anyway, it was nice to meet you, Mr. Burrows. Mrs. Mahone."

"Thank you."

The teacher walked off.

"Cookie?" Pam asked.

"Yeah. Sounds good." He put his hand on the small of Pam's back and led her to the snack table. "I'll try to get the film developed tonight," he said. "I figured Alex would want to see them when we visit... you visit him and I visit Michael tomorrow."

"We really need to look into getting a digital camera," she said, picking up a house-shaped sugar cookie for the both of them. "It's so inconvenient having to drop the film off and then back up. And then half the roll always seems to be of fingers or people or without heads."

Lincoln shook his head. "Not on my rolls." He bit into his cookie. "I'll have you know, I'm an expert photographer."

"Really?"

"Michael didn't get all the art talent in the family." He grinned.

"Lincoln! Mommy! Watch me!" Cameron shouted from the monkey bars.

"We're watching, buddy!" Lincoln called back.

Tongue sticking between his lips, Cameron swung himself across the bars. "Did you see me?"

"We did," Pam said. "Good job."

"I'm gonna do it again!" He jumped off and ran back to the line. Once it was his turn, he went again. "I'm gonna skip! Watch, I can skip and...." He missed. Slipped. Shrieked as he went down. Fell, full weight, on his weak leg.

A scream caught in Pam's throat. Her heart squeezed, head spun.

"Moommmy!"

* * *

It was dark by the time Pam and Lincoln arrived home. They'd spent hours at the urgent care clinic, waiting to see a doctor, waiting for the X-Rays, waiting for X-rays to come back, waiting, waiting and more waiting.

Cameron had been silent, pale, and weepy the whole time they were there. He clung to Pam, white knuckled. During the hour and a half in the waiting room, he'd only complained twice, once that he wanted Nemo (which LJ brought, thrilled that he got to drive Lincoln's car, even under the circumstances) and once that he was hungry. All Pam had was a cookie from the ceremony, which wasn't enough to tide him over. While waiting for the X-Rays, they'd finally gotten dinner. After eating, Cameron fell asleep.

LJ was in Pam's living room watching TV. He looked up when they entered. "Is he okay?" he asked.

Lincoln put his fingers to his lips and cocked his head at Cameron, who was asleep in his arms. He handed Cameron's jacket to Pam, then took him down the hall.

Cameron and LJ had decorated his room together. It'd come out as a mix between 'Finding Nemo' and the Chicago Cubs. As far as Lincoln knew, Cameron had known next to nothing about baseball or the Cubs before he'd moved here, but LJ was currently training him to be a proper little fan. Already, the kid could name all the players and their positions, knew where they played, had his own hat and jersey, and a Cubs pendent above his bed, next to a Nemo poster. They'd spent the opening game, gloves firmly on one hand, on the couch in front of the TV, screaming and cheering.

It'd been cute. Lincoln had taken lots of pictures (determined, having missed so much of LJ's early life, not to miss any more nor have Alex left out of his son's childhood), a pang in his heart the entire time. He'd always enjoyed baseball, but Michael had made something of a religion out of it. LJ's fanaticism was Michael's hand.

Lincoln took off Cameron's shoes. Changed him into his pajamas, careful not to wake him. Then, he pulled the covers down and placed him under them.

"Night, little guy," he whispered, kissing Cameron's forehead as he placed Nemo in his arms.

Cameron tightened his grip around the fish and rolled onto his side, sleeping soundly.

"So, he's going to be okay, right?" LJ asked as Lincoln walked back into the living room. "I mean, it wasn't anything."

Pam nodded. She grabbed a tissue from the box on the end table. Wiped her eyes and nose. "I know I'm a mess, babe, but he's really fine." She sniffed. "He bruised it, that's all. Jarred where he broke it before. But the... instrument in his leg to keep it straight is fine, the bone's fine. Everything is fine, except he'll be a little sore tomorrow."

Lincoln sat down next to her. Put his arm around her shoulders. "You okay?" he asked, rubbing her arm.

"Yeah. God." She wiped her eyes again. "You must think I'm one of those mothers. One of those overprotective, clingy, awful mothers that everyone makes fun of."

"No." He shook his head. "No. The doctor even said you did the right thing. You don't want to screw around with an injury like this. You said he was in the hospital for, what, almost four months total last time?" He shook his head again and squeezed her. "You reacted just the right way."

"And I don't think you're overprotective," LJ said. He took Pam's hand in his. "I mean, you're just... there. You're not overprotective. I mean, he fell, right?" LJ shrugged. "Seems like it'd probably be scary."

She let out a breath. "I still feel stupid. Like I panicked. I hate panicking."

"You didn't panic." Lincoln kissed the top of her head. Squeezed her again. "You reacted calmly and thoughtfully."

"No, that's what you did. Just ran over and picked him up all calm and commanding. I stood there like an idiot."

"No, seriously, Pam..."

"Um," LJ broke in. "Do you guys want something to drink or anything? Food?"

"We ate while waiting for the x-rays," Lincoln said.

"I could use some hot chocolate," said Pam.

LJ smiled and practically shot off the couch. "Okay! I know where it is." He rushed out of the room.

Pam pulled away from Lincoln and tucked her hair behind her ears. "He needed an excuse to leave," she explained.

"Oh." Lincoln frowned. "Why?"

"I don't know. But something made him uncomfortable." She rose from the couch and stretched. "I'm going to go freshen up. Want to choose a movie, or are we watching CSI reruns."

"You're going to make me choose?"

She laughed. "Let LJ choose a movie. If we spend another night gorging on CSI, he seriously will run away."

He stood. "I'll go do the popcorn and drinks and get him out there. You know we're going to end up watching Borat, Pitch Black, or Prisoner of Azkaban again."

"Oh, push for Borat. Then he'll do his impression for Michael tomorrow, which means Cameron will do his impression. Alex will love that."

"All right. I'll tell him." He swatted her on the bottom, then went into the kitchen.

LJ was already pulling a bowl out of the cupboard. "We doing a movie?" he asked.

"You heard?"

"Naw, I just figured. Pam doesn't seem like she wants to be alone, you know?" The teakettle began to whistle. LJ turned off burner and moved the kettle. "Dad?"

"Yeah?" Lincoln put his hand on the nape of LJ's neck and squeezed gently.

LJ licked his lips. His eyes were fixed steadily on the counter in front of him. "Are you gonna, like. You know. Start dating?"

"Dating who?"

"Dunno." He shrugged. "Anyone, I guess. Girls. Unless you're gonna be like Uncle Mike."

"No. I'm straight."

LJ gave him a very rare, double-watt smile. "Yeah, I was just kidding, Dad. I know." He picked up an envelope of hot chocolate and shook it. "So. Are you?"

He sighed. Shook his head. "I don't know, LJ. I mean, it's not like I'm out meeting women right now. I work at the construction site all day, then come here. Doesn't exactly give me a lot of spare time."

"Yeah, but, you don't, like need to work. The government set us up for life. You could cut down your hours and... and it never stopped you before. You'd go out."

"I have you." He squeezed LJ's shoulder. "You need me. And then there's Cameron. I mean, if I was going to cut down my hours at work, I'd... I don't know. Coach him playing baseball or soccer. Make sure the two of you weren't getting into any trouble. Give Pam some time off."

"So you're not going to date?"

"Not unless I happen to meet someone. But, no. I'm really... I'm passed the whole dating thing. Too old."

"Oh." He licked his lips. "I, uh.... Look. I know you want me to do some kind of sport thing this summer? Like baseball camp or whatever. But, um. Um. There's this... acting thing I kind of want to try." He grabbed the kettle and poured into a mug. "It's like really hard to get into. It's kind of... they go around and compete in these competitions and stuff, so the summer is like training for next year."

"And you made it?" Lincoln said.

"Yeah." His shoulders hunched. "Three times a week all summer."

A grin split his face. "My son's going to be a famous actor! Wow, LJ, that's great!" He slapped LJ on the back.

"You don't have to..."

"No, really! I'm so proud of you. God." He couldn't stop grinning. "Does Pam know?"

"Not that I made it. She convinced me to audition."

"Lets go tell her right now. Come on."

"Dad? The popcorn. Drinks. Not done."

"Oh, right. Let's... let's finish. Then we'll tell her."

LJ's face was bright pink. There was a smile on his face, a dopey one. The kind you just couldn't keep off.

Lincoln gave him a hard, one armed hug. "I'm proud of you, LJ." He kissed him on top of the head. "Really."

"Thanks, Dad. I really... Just thanks."

* * *

"What are you working on?" Alex asked, hanging his head over the side of the bunk.

Michael finished erasing a mark off his paper. He blew away eraser dust, then looked up. "Something for your son."

"Cameron?" He slithered down from his bed and into Michael's. "What are you making for Cameron?"

"See for yourself." He made room next to him and laid the sketch pad on his lap. "It won't be ready by tomorrow. I was thinking it should probably be a painting or something. But..."

Alex rested his head on Michael's shoulder. "It's me."

"Yeah. I thought he'd like a picture of you. For his room or something." Michael frowned and shaded in Alex's hair. "Or maybe not. I don't know. What do I know about kids?" He lifted the pencil. Moved to the neck.

"Didn't you practically raise LJ?"

"He had a mother. All I did was take him to baseball games and movies and... stuff." He sighed. "This is stupid. I've spent the past three days on this, and I have other things I'm supposed to be working on. Abigail is totally in love with the.. the life in the yard series I've been doing. I told her this was one of them, 'cause, you know. You're in the yard, playing chess and... And Cameron won't even like it, and..."

Alex kissed him. Hand on his neck, pulling him. Mouth hard, insistent. Completely aroused.

Michael groaned. Dropped the pencil. The pad slipped off his lap, onto the floor. He turned to Alex. Fisted his shirt.

"You need to stop worrying," Alex whispered, breaking the kiss.

He whimpered. Kissed Alex again. And again. Went in again, but Alex pulled back.

"Michael."

"You trying to torture me?"

"Favorite thing," he said, rubbing noses with Michael. "You know that." He nipped Michael's lower lip. "But, no. In this case, I'm trying to make you calm down."

Michael quirked an eyebrow.

"Smartass." Bit his ear. "Cameron is almost seven. And, according to Pam, he misses me. I'm sure he's going to love getting a hand drawn picture of his very own. And, even if he can't quite appreciate it the way, say, one of those crazies who bought, "Living Frankenstein" for fourteen gazillion billion dollars, he will still grin and ask Mommy to get it framed, and thank you. Possibly without blushing or hiding his head in Mommy's neck."

"Do you always call her Mommy?"

Alex gave him a lascivious smile. "Not anymore."

"'Living Frankenstein' did not sell for fourteen gazillion billion dollars," Michael said. He gave Alex two slow, open mouthed kisses. "That number doesn't even exist. It sold for fifteen hundred."

"Thousand."

"Whatever." He kissed Alex's neck. "And he wants a companion piece."

"For more money."

"It's just about notoriety. I've still got cache for the break and all." He nuzzled Alex's neck, mouth and tongue working against slightly stubbled skin that smelled of cheap prison soap, sweat, and Alex.

"Talent doesn't have anything to do with it." For some reason, he couldn't get enough of Michael's ears. Soft lobe, just perfect for sucking and tonguing. And the indent behind them that when Alex touched the tip of his tongue against it, made Michael squeak and squirm. "And you need to start working on your prison lingo. It's mad skillz, not cache."

Michael laughed. "Oh, right. And instead of notoriety?"

"Street cred." He captured the tantalizing lips with his. "The break gave you street cred."

"Yeah, it did. Bought me, what, a year? Sixth months of worship and adoration?"

"More if you keep getting naughty letters and accompanying pictures that you pass out." He kissed over Michael's face, starting with his eyebrows. "Who knew there were so many women willing to snap pictures of themselves naked for some inmate."

"You've never watched Law and Order, have you?"

He snorted. "Live it, don't need it for entertainment." Their tongues brushed over each other. And again, One more time, deeper. Alex pressed his hand into Michael's back. Pressed their bodies together.

"But you're willing to watch 'Days of Our Lives.'"

"Not. My. Life," he replied, puncturing his words with nips on various places of Michael's body. "That show is the furthest thing from reality possible. In fact..."

"Hey!" A CO banged on the bars to their cell. Shined the a flashlight in. "Lights out, you two. Get to sleep."

Alex released Michael. Climbed off the bed. "Sorry boss." He bent down, picked up the discarded sketchpad, and passed it to Michael. Then he climbed onto his bunk.

The guard waited until both Michael and Alex were lying down before he left. Then he continued down the cell, checking bunks.

Beneath him, Michael yawned. "Stay with me tonight?" he asked through another yawn.

Immediately, Alex jumped off his bed. Climbed into bed next to Michael. He squeezed into the space between Michael's body and the wall, wrapped his arms around his body. Kissed the nape of his neck.

"Michael," he said softly, their heads resting inches apart on the too-thin pillow.

"Yeah?" He yawned again. Snuggled back into Alex's body.

"How long have you been here?"

Michael licked his lips. "Um. Three months. About."

"That's what I thought." He breathed out slowly, blowing air softly over Michael's skin. "You know me by now. I don't rush into things. Not unless I'm certain. Or as certain as I can be." He searched for Michael's hand under the covers. Laced their fingers. "And I'm fairly certain I'm falling in love with you."

Fingers tightened in his. Michael tilted his head back. Kissed him. Whispered. "I know I'm falling in love with you."


	17. Chapter 17

"Yeah, so, it was kind of intense, I guess," LJ said, blushing and ducking his head. "I had to do two monologues, one comedic and one dramatic. And then I had to do some improve with kids who were in the thing last year. And then, after I passed that, I had to go back again and do a cold reading scene with some other people. So. Yeah."

"And you passed all that," Michael said.

LJ nodded.

"I'm... I'm so proud of you, LJ." Michael squeezed LJ's hand. "That's a major accomplishment."

"Naw. It's just a thing."

Lincoln sighed. "I swear to God, you're more and more like your uncle every day."

Michael rolled his eyes at his brother. "What he means, LJ, is you shouldn't underplay your accomplishments. You should be proud of them. Thank people when they tell you how proud they are of you."

"In other words," Alex broke in, "don't be like him." He gave Michael a slight shove.

He shoved him back. "Shut up."

Cameron pursed his lips. Shook his head and whispered, "That's not nice."

Michael blushed. "You're right, that's not nice. I'm sorry, Cameron."

The little boy shrugged. Hugged his fish tighter to his chest. "'S'okay."

Silence fell over the table. The silence had been intermittent since the visitation had began. Michael had practically felt Alex's dismay when Cameron had shown up with his stuffed fish. Pam had explained what had happened the day before, and Cameron had spent most of the visit quietly snuggling on Alex's lap.

Michael and Alex exchanged looked. Out of the corner of his eye, Michael saw Pam and Lincoln doing the same thing.

Finally, Michael cleared his throat. "Um. Cameron. I have something for you." He reached under the table and pulled out the gift bag he'd gotten that morning from the commissary. They had gift bags and wrapping paper, but no frame, unfortunately; he'd have preferred to have it framed already. Then again, he'd have preferred to work on it longer, buy a canvas and do it as a painting. But he wanted to give something to Cameron now, especially since there growing expectation that every time he requested canvas, he'd paint something to sell.

Cameron set Nemo in his lap and took the offered bag. "What is it?" he asked, blinking his beautiful dark eyes at Michael.

"It's for you. A present." Michael swallowed. Shrugged.

"It's not my birthday."

"I know. I just... I thought you might like it."

"Open it, honey," Pamela urged.

He handed Nemo to his father and set the bag in his lap. Carefully, he dug through the tissue paper, setting it on the table until he got to the rolled paper inside.

"Here." Michael took it and undid the string holding it shut. Then he carefully unrolled it and placed it on the table.

Cameron shifted onto his knees. Pushed up and leaned over it. "It's Daddy!" One small hand reached out, lightly touched the face on the paper. "Did you drawed... draw this, Michael?"

"Yeah. I thought..."

"Mommy, can we hang it in my room?"

"Of course. My goodness, Michael, this is gorgeous."

Michael blushed deeply. "The, uh, subject makes the picture."

Pam raised her eyebrow at him. "I won't argue there. But I tell you, no way I could sit down with the intention of drawing that," she pointed at Alex, "and come out with that." She pointed at the picture.

"Um. Thanks." He ducked his head.

Cameron was leaning over the drawing, tracing the lines with the tips of his fingers. "How did you do that?"

"I, uh. Got a pencil and paper and... drew."

"It's good." He looked up. "It looks like Daddy. I mean, really like him. Like a picture."

"Oh, pictures!" Lincoln said suddenly. He grabbed Pam's purse and stuck his hand in. "We've got the pictures from Cam's graduation yesterday. And the Cubs' opening day. Cam and LJ had a whole thing that day. I got the film developed last night." He handed the envelopes to Alex.

"Thanks," Alex said. He pulled out the pictures and started flipping through them, sharing with Michael.

Cameron was still intent on the drawing. "Look, Mommy. It's a bird." He pointed at a bird flying in the distance behind Alex's head.

"I see that."

"And a board. Daddy's playing a game."

"He's playing chess."

"Yeah. And there's a horse. And a tower. And another horse. And, look, this is that man over there!" Cameron pointed at another inmate sitting with his family.

"Don't point, honey," Pam said.

"That's Randall," Michael said, looking up from one of the graduation shots. "He's one of your daddy's friends."

Randall looked over to them on hearing his name. He smiled and waved.

Cameron immediately blushed and turned to press his face in his father's chest.

"Ah, Cameron. Why are you doing that?" Alex kissed the top of his head and rubbed his back. "Don't be shy."

Cameron stayed where he was.

Alex sighed. "I like your hat, bud. Did you make it?" He showed Michael the picture of Cameron holding the cardboard mortarboard out for the camera.

"Um... yes," Cameron answered, pulling away. "Mrs. Kim told us to decorate the hats with stuff we liked. So I did Nemo and baseballs. And, Daddy? Me and LJ and Lincoln and Mommy and me are going to see the Cubs play baseball. In person. And LJ and me are taking our gloves so we can catch a foul ball. And LJ is gonna teach me how to keep score."

"You really like baseball, huh?"

Cameron nodded enthusiastically. "Last week, me and Mommy and Lincoln goed... went to the batting cages. And I hit a ball, Daddy! Three times, and it was cool and LJ and I play catch after school. Oh, and at school, Ben and me play soccer because we don't have baseballs and I kick the ball farther than him. And I'm going to get a Cubs shirt at the baseball game. And, Michael, LJ says that you like the Cubs. Do you like the Cubs, because I think they're the best team ever."

Michael couldn't stop the smile. Cameron reminded him a lot of LJ when he was Cameron's age. "Yeah, I think they're the best team ever, too."

He beamed. "And, Daddy? What do you think?"

"I think I better learn something about baseball."

His eyes went wide. "You don't know about baseball?"

"I know some. Maybe you can teach me."

"Okay. Mommy? Can I have my paper?"

Pam took out a pad of paper, some crayons, and a pencil. "Here you go."

He took them. Passed the drawing of Alex to Michael. "Michael, can you roll this? I don't want to hurt it."

"Sure." He started rolling it, and was startled when there were suddenly a pair of soft arms around his neck and small lips on his cheek.

"Thank you for the picture, Michael. I really like it."

He put an arm around Cameron and squeezed. "You're welcome." He wasn't sure if he was supposed to kiss Cameron back or not, so he left it at the hug.

Cameron sat back down and pulled out the crayon. "Okay, Daddy. There are three bases," he started explaining.

As Cameron taught Alex all about baseball, Michael turned to his brother and nephew. "So, how are things going for you?"

Lincoln nodded. "Good. I'm going to be taking some time off from work next month. Maybe go on vacation somewhere. I'd like to take LJ to the coast some time."

"You should," Michael said. "If he can work it around this acting thing." He glanced at LJ.

"Yeah. I mean, they don't want people missing all the time, but they get vacations and everything. Family things."

"Then you should. Head out, hang out on the beach. I'm sure Cameron would love it, too."

"Oh, I wasn't... And I wouldn't want to leave you," Lincoln said, flustered. "Not all alone."

Michael shrugged. "I've got Alex."

Lincoln rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. Family. Outside this place. You need connection."

"Linc, some guys in here go months, even years, without having any visitors. You come twice a month. I love it, I do, and I appreciate it. But not if you're going to give up your life to keep it up. Take a vacation. From me. From Chicago. Take some time with your son. Let him meet some girls."

"Uncle Mike!" LJ practically shouted. He turned beet red.

"You're seventeen years old. I'm trying to convince your father to go to the coast. It's a natural connection to make, right?"

"You're supposed to be the one who doesn't embarrass me," he groaned.

Michael exchanged grins with Lincoln. "Sorry, LJ. I'll stop." He turned to Lincoln and leaned in. "You'll get to see Pam in a bikini."

LJ shot to his feet. "Is there a bathroom around here?"

"Down the hall, on the right," the guard said.

He beat a retreat.

Lincoln looked very much as if he would liked to follow his son. "Michael, it isn't like that. Me and Pam."

"Why not?" he asked, genuinely interested.

"I don't... it just isn't. Okay?" He had that tone. The, 'drop it or you're dead,' tone.

Since Michael didn't want Lincoln in jail for killing him, he dropped it. "Those pictures of Cameron are good. I know Alex really appreciates it."

"I feel bad for him," Lincoln said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Missing out on so much. He should be there. Not here."

"I agree. He doesn't belong here. He's not a danger to society. He barely did anything wrong." Michael scowl. "He deserves to be set free."

"Of course, that'll leave you alone," Lincoln pointed out. "Wouldn't want that."

He felt himself blush. "I can't be selfish."

"How are things going with you two, anyway?" he asked softly.

"You asking about my sex life, Linc?"

"Well. Yeah. Special circumstances and all."

Michael sighed. "We haven't progressed much beyond making out and the occasional frantic rubbing, if you must know. I still... I just...."

"Have you talked with your psychologist about it? I mean... are you...."

"Yeah," Michael said. "He and I have our sessions in a room in the psych ward. He brought a mirror in it and makes me take off my shirt. Look at myself. Once he left the room and have me strip naked and look and I just.... It's a process, okay? And I know I'm being stupid and melodramatic or whatever, but every time I look all I can see is how damaged I am."

Lincoln put his hand on Michael's arm. "You're not."

Michael swallowed. His eyes were stinging. "It's not just this. It's everything, okay? What he did and, um. The tattoo. The missing toes. And, um, I had a boyfriend once, for about a week. Not really a boyfriend, but we were dating and he seemed nice until we started sleeping together. Soon as we did that, he got possessive. Jealous. I was thinking about breaking up with him when he, uh. He beat me for canceling a date. I had to work late. The next day, he came over, I let him in. And he... was screaming and accusing me of cheating on him."

"He hit you?"

"Yeah, it was... I had to go to the hospital."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"You were jail. I called a guy from work. He took me to the hospital. I pressed charges, never spoke to him again. But now I just..." He exhaled shakily. "It just brought up all these things. Like... like you know that one foster father? Who locked me in the room? He wasn't the only one."

"I remember that one woman who used to hit us with the extension cord," Lincoln said.

"And remember that one who would hold matches to our skin?" Michael said. A tear slipped from his eye.

Lincoln's hand tightened. "I remember her. God, what a bitch. And her husband wasn't any better. With his fucking belt. And he didn't know about the burns, so we'd always be punished double." He shook his head. "I tried to protect you, Michael. I really did."

"I know. And I thought I'd dealt with this. But the attack just brought it all back, and I can't... I don't like my body." He laughed bitterly. "God. I sound like a thirteen year old girl."

"I'd rather you did than be unable to talk about it." He looked up as LJ reentered the room.

LJ sat down on the other side of Michael, and turned to face the Mahones.

Lincoln leaned in even closer, until their heads were practically touching. "Anyway you could get Alex to go with you to one of these sessions?"

"Oh, yeah. Like they really care whether or not I can be naked in front of anyone else. Outside the showers, I mean."

"True." He sighed. Put his hand on the back of Michael's neck. Squeezed. "You don't belong here either, Michael. I really wish you'd just kept running. Gone on to Panama, opened a little shop. Had time just to lay in a hammock, drink beer, and do all the reading you'd ever want."

Michael quirked his mouth. "Then I wouldn't have Alex."

"Maybe you still would. Who knows?"

He snorted. "Yeah. Who knows?" He pulled away. Picked up the pile of pictures and began flipping through them.

Pam turned to him. "Michael, that picture you drew of Alex was beautiful."

"Thanks," he said, blushing, head ducked.

"I don't want to impose on you, but is there anyway you can draw one of Cameron? I'd love to have one."

"Um, yeah. Do you want just a drawing, or do you want a painting?"

Her eyes lit up. "Can you do a painting?"

"Sure. Do you have any particular picture?"

She reached into her purse. Took out her wallet and removed a picture of Cameron. "Here. We got this taken a couple weeks ago. He's grown so much since school pictures in the fall, I wanted something new. I love this shot."

It was a very cute picture. Cameron, laughing at the camera, Nemo above his head. He was standing, dressed in a red polo shirt and jeans. One foot was out so he was resting on his heel. There was a light dancing in his eyes, a flush on his cheeks.

"What did the photographer say to get this reaction?"

"I can't even remember," she said, shaking her head. "It actually might have been something Lincoln said."

"He was there?" Michael glanced at his brother, who'd moved so he was with Cameron, LJ, and Alex.

"We all went. We couldn't convince LJ to get his picture taken, but we did lure him out with the promise of mall junk for dinner."

Michael looked up at her. "I haven't gotten a chance to thank you for being so good to LJ. He told me what you've done. Helped him with man and talked with him. Helped to put things in perspective. It's just... thank you."

"You're welcome," she said. "And thank you. I was so afraid of what was going to happen to Alex in here. He was getting into so many fights and not eating. Having headaches. Being bored. I was afraid..." She pressed her lips together. Reached into her purse for a tissue and wiped her eyes. "You've, uh. You've really changed him. How he is here. He's more like Alex now that you're here, and I thank you for that."

"I'm not doing anything."

"You're loving him," Pam whispered. She took his hand. "Even in this place, you are, and I thank you for that."

His cheeks burned. Stomach fluttered. He felt hot. "You know?"

"Of course. He told me. And even if he hadn't, I know him. And I can see the love between the two of you." She leaned into him and kissed him on the cheek. "I never thought that any good would come from him being here. But somehow, we've gotten a family from it. You, your brother, LJ. I can't imagine my life without any of you now."

Michael glanced over at Alex, who, as if sensing Michael's gaze, lifted his head. Their eyes met. Alex smiled at Michael.

"Yeah," Michael said. "Neither could I."


	18. Chapter 18

Lights out. Quiet in the cell block. Michael lay, stretched across his bed, sketching a picture of Cameron from the pile of photographs Lincoln and Pam had brought. Alex was above him, the scratch of paper against paper indicating he was reading.

Simms walked in front of the cell. Looked in. "You know you're not getting any younger, Alex," he said, tapping the bars lightly.

"You don't go blind from reading in dim light," he responded in that dry tone Michael loved so much.

"Naw, you go blind from the things most the men in here have to do," the guard snickered. "Lucky you got Blueprints, eh?"

Michael looked up, eyebrow raised.

Simms just grinned back, good natured, no offense meant.

He smirked. Slid off the bed and went to the bars. "Night, boss." He dropped the sheet.

The other man laughed and continued on his rounds.

Alex was looking at him when he turned back around. His book was on his chest, head propped on his pillow, hands behind his head. His eyes were dark. Questioning.

Michael took hold of the bunk. Hauled himself up to Alex's bed. Stretched out on top of him. "Hey."

"Hey."

Their lips met. Soft. Barely touching. Feather-light caresses over and over that sent tingles down Michael's spine.

Alex's arms closed around Michael. Rubbed soothing circles. He took Michael's mouth with his. Kissed deeply. When they broke apart, both men were breathing heavily.

Michael sighed. Laid his head down, head cradled in the crook of Alex's neck. "I know how frustrated you must be getting," he said. He traced Alex's face with his fingers. "And, what's worse, you probably feel like you can't leave me because we share a cell."

"I'm not frustrated." He kissed the top of Michael's head.

He snorted.

"I'm not. You think I'm not nervous about this? Michael, for fifty some years, I've been laboring under the assumption I was a straight man. Maybe a straight man with some crooked thoughts, but they were thoughts. And now I'm here." He lifted Michael's head. "With you. And I'm terrified." He rolled over, depositing Michael on the bed next to the wall. Propped his head on his arm. "I overheard you and Lincoln."

"Oh."

"What can I do? I want you to feel comfortable again. To like yourself." He ran his fingers down Michael's neck.

He sighed. "I don't know if there's anything you can do. It's just... I need time. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for." He tugged on Michael's ear. "You know, I haven't seen so much as your arms since that first night you were back? You dress before I'm up. You shower at different times. You always wear sleeves."

"I know."

Alex looked at him, waiting. Looking for more.

Michael sighed and rubbed his eyes. "It's stupid."

Still nothing.

"Okay. Look. I don't doubt you. Anything you say, I believe you. One hundred percent. It's just..." His voice cracked. He stopped. Swallowed. Cleared his throat. "It's just that, right now, my head's playing all kinds of tricks with me. And, um. You just really like the tattoo, you know?"

His eyebrow raised. "And you don't?"

"Not really no. It's just one more symbol of how fucked up I am. Everything is. And my body. It's like I'm not myself anymore. It's not me. It's the sum of everyone's expectations. Desires. Whatever." The back of his throat prickled. His nose was stuffed.

"You know your mind and body aren't two separate entities. You live here." He dragged his fingers over Michael's forehead. "And here." Down his neck, his arm. Across his chest. "Here." Over Michael's hip. Down his thigh. Back up and over his stomach. His chest. Resting over his heart.

As Alex caressed him, Michael's eyes fell shut. Chin trembled as he fought from both recoiling and leaning in to the tantalizing caress.

"It's all you, Michael. All of it."

"Maybe I don't want it to be."

"Michael," Alex sighed. He moved closer, pinning Michael against the wall. Kissing him, deep and hard and perfect, until his toes curled and cock hardened and head spun.

And then, he was kissing across Michael's forehead. Over his neck. Shoulder. Arm to his wrist, where Alex kissed over the back of his hand. Up each finger and down the other side Covered his palm with kisses to his wrist. The inside of his arm. Nuzzled his inner elbow. Stopped short of his armpit and went back around over his clothed collarbone to his other arm where Alex repeated the journey.

By the time Alex was back at his Michael's chest, he was panting. Trembling. And, God, so hot.

He moaned softly. Moved his arms up over his head. Grabbed the metal bar that held the bunk together. Squeezed his hands.

Alex continued to kiss down Michael's chest. Covered every inch, wetting cloth, making it worse since Michael was sweating and the shirt was sticking to him and it was so hot, hot.

And Alex was at his hips, over the bone. Down his thigh and knee and shin. To his mangled feet and they stank and Alex quickly came back up the other leg. Kissed along the inside, making Michael squirm. Arch his hips, begging. Pleading wordlessly, tugging that the bar, shaking bunk.

Alex kept kissing. Over his thigh. Up his hip. Along the waistband of his pajamas, his hands tracing circles over Michael's sides.

"It's all you," Alex whispered. He found Michael's navel. Pressed a kiss to it through Michael's shirt.

Michael gasped. His eyes opened, vision blurred.

He felt eyes on him. Hands at the hem of his shirt. All was stillness.

His face crumpled. "Everyone just talks about it so much. Ricky and the guys on the yard. The people who send me letters. The guards. They just talk about it like it's not even on me. That it's... and I don't want to be my tattoo."

"You're not."

"You like it. It's what made you finally come on to me," Michael hissed. "You saw me in the shower and you saw the tattoo and all of the sudden you wanted me."

Alex shook his head. "No." Again. "No, that's not what happened. Michael." He touched Michael's cheek. "I wanted you from the moment you set foot in this cell. I just didn't know. Didn't know what to think. How to act around you, because I've never wanted another man the way I do you. Here and immediate and so badly I can't think straight. And when I saw you in the shower and you turned and you looked at me, there was this... awareness. And then I knew."

Michael shook his head.

"Michael..."

He let go of the bar. Turned onto his side, facing the wall.

Alex sighed. Moved behind him and caressed Michael's cheek and neck. "What I love about the tattoo," he said, voice gruff, "is that I can see ever thought, every fear and hope and desire you had while creating it. The love you have for your brother. The self-sacrifice. Michael, I'm a man who has, my entire life, looked for a cause worth sacrificing myself for. Giving my all. I looked in the army. The FBI. In my country and my wife and my son. And I've always fallen short. I couldn't devote everything to my country because I loved my wife. And I failed her because I loved myself. And my son... Well. Maybe I wouldn't be here if I'd been strong enough for him. But you. You gave everything."

"And you think I'll give everything for you?"

"No. No, that's not it. And it's only part of it." He kissed Michael's neck. "It's part of who you are. Like the genius. The looks. Just... just everything. It's all part of you. It's your design, your brainchild. You're not your tattoo. It's just a part of you." He kissed Michael's neck again. "And I love every part."

Michael couldn't help the noised that escaped his throat.

Alex tugged at his shoulder. Pulled him onto his back. "Just tell me to stop," he said, straddling Michael's body.

Heart pounding, he closed his eyes.

Alex tugged at Michael's shirt, urging it up. Michael shrugged his shoulders, letting Alex strip it off him.

"Breathe," Alex said. He bent over. Licked and nipped at Michael's neck. Hands caressed, pressed into his skin. Mouth sucked, tongue tasted. "Open your eyes."

He did. Bit his lip and watched.

Alex sucked on Michael's nipple. Bit it gently. Moved to the other while his thumb made circles around Michael's navel. Then, as he kissed his way down Michael's torso, the hand strayed south, under the elastic of Michael's pajamas.

His stomach lurched. Sick-sweat broke out at his temples. He tried to ignore it, tried to push the feeling away, to give into the sensations, to just... go with it.

His mouth flooded. "Alex, move!"

Alex pulled back. Michael still nearly knocked him off the bunk as he lurched from it. He barely made it to the toilet in time.

"Sorry," he coughed between heaves. The acid burned his throat. Snot flowed from his nose.

"No. No, don't be sorry." Alex had something cold on Michael's neck. Stroked his back.

When Michael sat back and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, Alex handed him a cup of water.

"I'm sorry, Michael," Alex said as he drank. "I pushed too hard."

Michael hitched a shoulder. "Like I said. Frustrated."

Alex gave him a lopsided smile. "Too easily distracted. Not frustrated." He touched Michael's shoulder. "All I want to do is get you comfortable again. Really. Sex is... sex is way down there on my priorities. I love you, but um. I want things to be right with you before we go there."

"I know." Michael sighed. Looked down. Realized he still wasn't wearing a shirt. And that Alex was looking at him and that...

He shivered, sweat drying in the cold air of the cell.

"Let's go to bed," he said, rising. He pulled Alex up with him. Wrapped his arms around and kissed him.

"Together?"

Michael nodded.

Together, they went to Michael's bunk. Climbed inside. Out of defiance, Michael kept his shirt off, but he can't help being completely tense in Alex's arms. Tense, with an annoying flutter in his stomach, reminding him how sensitive it is these days. Once upon a time, he'd watch his own toes get cut off with nary a rumble; he'd seen a man's hand chopped off without sending him to the bushes. Now? A hand down his pants made him sick.

Sharp pains stabbed into his neck. Flowed upwards, into his head. His brain. Hurt.

"Tell me about your first kiss," Alex said suddenly. His thumb stroked over Michael's arm, light. Over and over.

Michael rolled to face him. "My first kiss?"

"Yeah. Tell me." The hand resettled. Stroked.

"You want to know about the first or my first real kiss?"

"Why not both?" Alex asked, smiling.

He licked his lips. "Okay. My first." He bit his lip, thinking. "I was in kindergarten. This one boy, Jason, I think his name was, decided that this one girl, Kylie, was the prettiest girl in the world. So he got us all to write her love letters. Every day during free time in the classroom? We'd all get construction paper and crayons and color for her. You know, hearts, I love yous, rainbows, suns. That sort of thing. We'd give them to her before we went home."

"Seriously? The boys?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. I don't know. Anyway, Kylie decided she liked me best. One day, we were on the playground. The ball I was playing with got loose and into her jump rope game. She got the ball. When I went over to get it, she kissed me really quickly and said she loved me too. Then, we both ran away from each other." He couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face. "I don't think we ever talked to each again."

"Ah," Alex said, eyes fond. "You mean she wasn't the greatest love of your life?"

Michael blushed.

"Okay. What about your first real kiss?" His hand moved down. Splayed over Michael's collarbone. His thumb traced along the bones.

"I was thirteen. It was the winter dance at the middle school. Her name was... Cindy." He sighed, lost in the memory. "I was living with the Stevensons. Nice family. And the school was really good, too. Teachers knew what they were talking about, encouraged creative thinking. Cindy was in my classes. Curly blond hair. Big hazel eyes. White, white teeth. Anyway. The dance was right after school. The last dance was slow. They dropped confetti from the ceiling to make it look like it was snowing. The light backlit her and she seemed to glow and I just... kissed her."

"I take it she responded favorably?"

"Yeah. We dated until I was moved to another foster home and school. Even after that, we kept in touch. She was my first girlfriend."

Alex slid his hand over Michael's chest and asked, "What about your first time?"

His cheeks warmed. He shifted under the covers. "Why?"

"Just curious." His thumb circled Michael's nipple.

"Um. I was eighteen. Her name was Amy." He licked his lips, smile creeping over his face. "We'd been dating since October. We'd just graduated. There was a party. Some wine coolers. And then, uh... We had sex."

"Was it good?"

He grinned. "It wasn't bad. I mean, I'm pretty sure it was over before it began, but we got better."

"How long did you date her?"

"Until the fall. She left for college. New York State, I stayed in Chicago. We tried for about a month, but it was too hard. And, besides. That was when I met Chris."

Alex's eyebrows raised. His hand slid down. Fingers curled over skin. "Do tell."

Face burning, Michael lowered his eyes. "Chris. He was in the fraternity I pledged, and, yes, I pledged. I wanted to fit in. Anyway. We were had a class together, and there was a midterm. So, like the geeks we were, we got together the weekend before to study. We wound up talking for hours. Sometime after midnight, we got kind of... talking about things like this, actually. And then we were really close and it was like our heads kept moving to each other. And then we were kissing. A lot. We couldn't stop, and it turned into more." He sighed. "Unfortunately, Chris wanted to keep it a secret. It only lasted two weeks because I told Lincoln and when Chris found out, he flipped."

"I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "That's life."

"Yeah, I guess." He slid his hand up and down Michael's side, along the ribs. "Who was the first person you knew you were in love with?"

"What's with all these questions?" Michael asked. He pulled the pillow under his head. Squirmed as Alex hit a sensitive patch of skin.

"I'm just curious, that's all. We don't talk much. Not about this kind of stuff. There's so much about you I don't know. So much about me. I decided to change that."

"Oh. Well. What about you? First kiss?"

Alex smiled. Moved closer so he could share the pillow. "I wasn't as precocious as you were. I had my first kiss at fourteen. Neighbor girl, Kathy. On the Fourth of July."

"Good?"

"Yeah."

He yawned. "What about your first time?"

His hand drifted over Michael's stomach. "Also with Kathy. I was fifteen. We were both freshman, it was Homecoming. And it was under the bleachers after the game."

"You're kidding?"

"Nope."

"Was it good?"

He shook his head. "It was basically the worst thing. She didn't take her dress off, so it was really kind of tawdry. Way too fast." He laughed. "I'm pretty sure it was over before it even got started. My hand was in a puddle of what I still hope was soda. It started raining as we were finishing up. Pretty much the worst first time ever." He smirked. "The second time... now that was much better."

"Where was that?"

"My house, my bed. Folks were gone. She told her parents she was going to the library to study, then her friend's house to spend the night. She came over instead and didn't leave until the next morning. We got pretty good that night."

"I'll bet."

"So. First love?"

"Um," Michael yawned, eyes falling shut. "Jane Smith. Redhead. Math major. So beautiful, and she seemed to really like me. We started dating after I graduated. She was in her last year. We were together almost a year, and I knew... well. Thought she was it."

"What happened?"

Michael sighed. "Linc got in trouble. I was so involved in bailing him out that I sort of neglected her. For about a month. She was understandably less than thrilled that not only was I that busy, but that I was busy over my deadbeat of a brother. So we broke up." He sighed again.

"I'm sorry."

"It was for the better. Left me unencumbered for when Lincoln was really in trouble. I sort of slept around a bit, mostly with guys. And not very much. So. What about you?"

"Pam." He sighed. Smiled. "Pam was my first real love. I told one other person, right before I went into the army, but even then I knew I was just saying it to get her into bed. When I met Pam I was completely swept away."

"What do you think about Lincoln and Pam?"

"I think that... it's really odd that they seem to be utterly clueless about how they come off." He traced Michael's ear. "The man reached into her purse. That's a divorceable offense in some marriages. Even for gum. And he just did it."

"Does it bother you?"

He frowned. "It did. At first. When she told me she was moving across from him. He is an attractive man, and she is my wife. That's my son. But." He sighed. Pet Michael's shoulder. "But he's a good man. He'll be good to her. Cameron's crazy about him and would die of sheer joy if LJ was his brother. And I'm crazy about you. So it seems like a good trade."

Michael smiled. Moved closer to Alex until their noses brushed. "I think so."

Alex kissed him. Rubbed his hand down Michael's spine. "Speaking of LJ," he whispered. "Why don't you tell me about when he was born?"

"You want to hear that?"

"I want to hear everything." His hand settled in the small of Michael's back. Massaged smooth circles.

He smiled again and kissed Alex. "All right." He opened his mouth and began to tell Alex everything.


	19. Chapter 19

"Geeze, Scofield, is there anything the bulls don't let you do anymore?" Randall asked as he joined the group on the bleachers. He sat next to Michael and picked up one of the colored pencils from the box.

"They're just pencils," he replied, not looking up from the drawing he was doing. "I bought them. It's not like they're weapons."

"Yeah, but no one else gets to draw on the yard."

"Anyone else ever ask?" Michael glanced over at him. "We have limited entrainment here. And, truth be told, limited imagination. Basketball, the pile, the track, cards, chess, checkers, catch, or just wandering around. Reading, but next to no one does that. I like to draw. I asked if I could draw outside the classroom, they said yes."

Randall twirled the pencil in between his fingers. "Like I said, they'll give you anything you ask for."

Michael rolled his eyes. Set the pencil he'd been using down and picked up another. "Key word there was ask. You ever ask for something not already on the yard?"

"Don't see the point. It's only an exercise in futility."

"Maybe. Or maybe not. You never know until you try."

"I've been in and out of prison since I was eighteen. I know how the system works. You're either special and get whatever you want, or you're nothing. No in between."

"COs hardly despise you," Alex said. He was having a hard time refraining from reaching out and running his fingers through Michael's hair. It was gleaming in the afternoon sun, black and gorgeous. Tempting. "You keep your nose clean, do what you're told, don't get into fights..."

"Oh, yeah, because you never get into any fights and the guards love you," he said sarcastically.

Alex sighed. "You know I'm a special case. A lawman in here for doing something that any one of them wish they could do. And I get enough shit from the inmates about it."

"Not recently."

"Well, no, but..."

"What crawled up your ass, Randall?" Michael interrupted. "You really this pissed that I have colored pencils? Or is this about something else? Like the fact you're getting a new cellie tomorrow?"

"Oh, that's right. Old cellie got parole." No wonder he was acting like an ass. Nothing was worse to someone who was settled into their routine than having it upset.

Randall rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, fine. I don't like this part of prison. I always seem to get some young punk with a big mouth and big ideas about his place in the pecking order. You weren't here when we got Sammy, Alex. Kid was awful, took forever to break in. Thought he was going to run the place. Had a chip on his shoulder the size of Antarctica and picked more fights than Alex. So, yeah. I'm a little testy right now. Sorry."

Michael shrugged and returned to his drawing. "No problem. I'm not exactly Sister Mary Sunshine most of the time," he said.

Randall snorted.

Alex took the opportunity to reach out and tug on a lock of Michael's hair. In response, Michael tilted his head back and rewarded him with a slow smile. Warmth burning across his chest, Alex returned it. Tugged again and fought the urge to leaned forward and kiss him. Everyone might turn a blind eye to what was done in the privacy of one's cell, but you didn't want to push it. He didn't want to push it.

He tugged on more time, then released Michael's hair. "It's looking good," he said as he picked up his book.

"Looks like him?" Michael asked. He was working on another picture of Cameron, this one for Alex.

"You've seen him. And you have the picture of him right in front of you."

"I'm not his father. I could be getting him all wrong."

This time, he smacked Michael in the back of the head. "It looks great."

"You've got a beautiful kid, Alex," Randall said, obviously contrite after his fit earlier. "Real cute, but just... he looks like his mom."

"Oh, I know." He smiled. "Her completely. The eyes and the mouth and..." He stopped. It wasn't fun bragging about your kid when you were locked away from him.

Randall clapped him on the shoulder a couple times. Squeezed it.

Alex picked up his book. Leaned back and started reading. Michael drew. Randall shuffled cards and threw longing glances at Michael's pencils.

A group of cons wandered by. Stopped a few feet away from the benches. They talked amongst themselves for a couple seconds as Alex watched them over the edges of his book.

"Michael," he said when the group turned to come back. He snapped his book shut and slid to the bench Michael was sitting on.

"Hey, Blueprints," Taggart said, a stupid smirk on his face. "They gonna let you stay up tonight to watch yourself on TV?"

Michael's eyebrows lifted. "That's tonight? I had no idea."

"Yeah, well, if you took your face outta that sketchbook or whatever, maybe you'd seen the commercials. Only thing that's been on forever is 'Break Out' commercials. You gonna watch it?"

"As far as I know, I'll have to wait to see it when I get out of here," Michael answered. "Unless they play it during the day."

"You should aks, yo. I mean, not everyone gets a movie made about them, right? Maybe they'd let you."

"Yes. That's what I want to do. Remind the people in charge that I broke out of my last prison and made everyone in charge look like fools. Think I'll pass."

Taggart laughed. "Yeah. True dat."

"Who they got playing you?" asked another man, Giles.

Michael rubbed his forehead, leaving a streak of blue across it. "Some actor named Jensen Ackles. Nice guy. Haven't seen him in anything, but we talked before I was incarcerated. He wanted to get a sense of who I was and everything. For the part." He half rolled his eyes, like he thought it was stupid, but Alex could tell by the blush on his cheeks that he was really embarrassed.

"They guy playing me writes me letters," Alex said by way of comfort.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Never thought to show them to you for some reason." Mostly because he knew that Michael had to be mortified at the fact the movie was being made in the first place. Alex himself was a little uncomfortable, but it did mean that he got to meet and become pen pals with Vincent D'Onofrio, so there was an upside.

"You get paid anything?"

"I did," Michael said. "My lawyer insisted that since I designed the tattoos, they're subject to copyright law. Took it to court and won, so they have to pay me royalties. Also get a small percentage just for being a part of it."

"Me too," Alex said. "Not a lot, but some."

"But you don't get to see it?"

"We're not chomping at the bit, no," Alex said.

"Wow. I'd want to," Taggart said. "And you should. Be a good laugh, right?"

Michael shrugged. "Maybe. I guess we'll see what happens."

"Guess. Anyway, see ya."

"Bye." When they were gone, Michael let out a long, slow breath. "See," he said to Alex, giving him a shaky smile, "you need to stop thinking that everyone here is out to jump me."

Alex smiled and pressed his hand to Michael's. "Yeah," he said, feeling sad. "you're right."

Michael nodded. Swallowed. "Yeah." He looked down at the sketchpad. He didn't resume drawing. "You interested?" he asked, turning his hand in Alex's and pressing their fingers together. "Because I bet there's some way..."

"Simms already told me he's taping it. That he's planning on bringing it tomorrow and giving people the option of watching it on one of the TVs. So if you're interested..."

He sighed. "I don't know if I really want to relive it all."

"Michael, you relived it practically ever day your first week here. I keep wondering why you don't write a book. A memoir of your experiences," Alex said. He'd been waiting for the right moment to drop this, and he wasn't convinced it was the right moment. But it was an opportune time. The problem was, Michael was getting deeper and deeper into his art. He didn't need the distraction of writing just yet.

But, it was the perfect opening, so...

Michael pulled his hand away. "Who'd want to read about me?" he asked in a predictable self-effacement.

"Michael, you get over fifty fan letters a day," Alex pointed out. "Your first few weeks here, everyone wanted to hear the story. Some still do. I think there'd be a lot of people who'd be interested in knowing what happened from the point of view of one who was there."

He shrugged. Started coloring in Cameron's hair. He was chewing on his lower lip.

Alex glanced over at Randall.

"Oh, yeah," Randall said. "I'd read it. Even though I can practically tell the story myself. It'd still be interesting. Besides. You could include all the stuff about when you were a kid and stuff.

"Oh, well, based on that completely objective persuasion, I guess I'll have to," Michael said dryly.

"Anything that eats up time is never a bad idea," Randall said stubbornly. He shuffled the cards. "You got a million different ways to entertain yourself. Might as well do 'em all, right?"

"At the same time?" Michael flipped the picture of Cameron over and pulled the next sheet of paper out of the book. Then he passed it to Randall and slid the pencils towards him in what was clearly an invitation.

Randall hesitated. Shrugged. Picked up a red pencil, placed the paper on the bench, and began to draw. "It's up to you. But it is a good idea. Could make a fortune, and it's always best to strike while interest is high, right?"

"Like I need money," he said. Which he did, sort of. He'd given up everything for Lincoln, and while Lincoln currently had more than enough for the both of them, the only assets Michael had were what he was making off his art. It was enough for now, and it'd grow as his reputation did, but it wouldn't be enough to live on when he was released. Not yet.

"Everyone could use more money," Alex said. He was about to say more when he saw Martinez approaching with a member of his gang. "Michael." He nodded towards the oncoming men.

Michael's fingers tightened around his pencil. "Hey, Martinez," he said. Smiled, because all was good between the two, after all. He'd taken revenge on Nicky for him, and, yeah, so what if he and Alex had been waiting almost four months now for Martinez to ask for repayment.

"Blueprints," Martinez said. He nudged his companion.

The other man stepped forward. Cleared his throat. "Um. So, uh. I seen some of your drawings and stuff. You're real good."

"Thanks." His fingers were so tight, Alex was afraid he'd snap the pencil in two.

He cleared his throat again. Reached into his shirt pocked.

Michael flinched, but all the other man pulled out was a photograph. He held it out.

Alex took it and laid it on Michael's drawing pad; he could see Michael's right hand was locked around the pencil and the left was clenching the bench.

"That's my abuela," the man said. "She's turning eighty-five in, like, three months. My family's having this big party for her. I ain't rich, but I can pay some."

Michael blinked at the photograph, then up at the man. "You want me to... do a portrait?"

"Yeah. Like a painting or something. Something nice, because, you know. It's a party, but she's gonna be dead soon and it'd be good to have something like that. Around. She's, like, raised us, you know? The whole family. Made sure we all had food. Clothes, school. Got up right. Well." He shrugged. "As much right as we can." Licked his lips. "Will you do it?"

"How much can you pay?" Alex asked. His eyes slid to Martinez when he asked, one eyebrow raised. "And what form of currency?"

"Alex..."

Martinez smiled. A predator's smile. "I think we can start with twenty stamps, maybe."

"Martinez," the man hissed, but his friend waved him away.

Alex nodded. "It's a start."

"I got three hundred," the man said quickly. "My family pulled it together. If it's not enough, we can try for more. I know you're, like, selling stuff for a lot more, but... I can offer protection if you..."

"No," Martinez interrupted. "No protection. This is a business deal, only. Money. Nothing else."

"That's fine with me," Michael said. "And three hundred's fine." He held out his hand, shook on it. "I'll have it in about a month."

The man smiled, relief across his face. "Anything else you need?"

Michael tilted his head to the side. "Have a seat," he said, flipping to a clean page. "Tell me all about her." He picked up a pencil.

The man looked at Martinez, who nodded. Then he sat and talked for the rest of yard time about his beloved grandmother as Michael sketched and made notes about what he learned.


	20. Chapter 20

Michael was alone in his cell reading when there was a knock on the bars. He looked up. "Hey, Sammy."

"Hey, Michael. Up for some company?"

He swallowed back the instinctive negative response. Forced himself to take a deep breath and slid off the bed. "Yeah, sure. Whatever. Come in." Gestured Sammy to take a seat on a chair as he moved to the table.

Sammy stepped inside. Stayed at the bars, fidgeting, hands in his pockets. "Where's Alex?"

"Why?"

Shrugged. "Wondering. That's all." He looked out the bars. "Mind if I lower the sheet?"

"Yes." Michael gripped the back of the chair. His heart was in his throat.

Sammy's eyes went wide. "No. No, it's not like that, Mikey, really. I'm not.... It's just that... Okay, look." In one stride, he crossed the room. Dropped into the chair and gazed up at Michael earnestly. "You're so tense all the time, man. Nervous. Everyone feels bad for you. You and Alex, since Alex is the one looking out for you. So, anyway, I've been thinking how to help and, well. I got something for you." He reached into pocket and pulled out a joint.

And, just like that, Michael was in the middle of an after school special.

He shook his head. "I don't... smoke. Or do pot or anything."

"No, I know. But you should. Makes time in here go a lot easier, believe me," Sammy said. "You've, like, had the worst of time, all right at the beginning. And you keep dragging it around with you. We all see it on the yard. Any time anyone walks near, you freeze. Panic. And Alex is like running himself to death trying to look out for you. Point out when anyone gets near and find some way to get you prepared. Relaxed before they come near. He shouldn't have to do that. You shouldn't have to be all scared."

"And you think pot is going to make me less scared?"

"Yeah. You'll feel so good, you won't care about nothing. Seriously."

Michael shook his head. "I don't know. I mean, it's a drug. Unpredictable." Not that he'd ever seen pot hurt anyone before. Lincoln had done more of his fair share and all it'd ever done was make him really mellow. Happy, almost.

"It's fine. It won't hurt you." He pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit up. Took a drag--a hit? Michael really didn't know. Anyway, inhaled and breathed out the sour-sweet smelling smoke.

"How do you know it won't hurt?" Michael said, watching him. "For all you know, I'll go into some psychotic rage."

Sammy's eyes were closed. His shoulders drooped and he leaned back slouched in the chair. "No way. That doesn't happen." He opened his eyes. "It just relaxes you, that's all. And if anyone needs to relax, you're, like, one on the list. Closely followed by Alex, but he ain't been so bad since you came." He took another drag, then held it out for Michael. "Come on."

He shook his head. "I can't."

"Michael... look. I know you and Alex are crazy about each other, right?"

"Yeah."

"And I think that's great. Not everyone in here can find love. Most of us are just trying to get by, you know? Not get jumped, raped. Beat, whatever. Just doing our time and counting the seconds until we're out. But you. You and Alex got something. And yet, you two ain't getting any, right?"

"Sammy..."

"I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable. I'm just saying, it's natural. After what you been through, I get it." He took another hit off the joint. "Don't you love Alex?" Sammy asked.

"Yeah."

"Don't you want to have sex with him?"

Michael swallowed. Tugged on his fingers. "Yeah."

"That's not going to happen if you're so tense. But take some of this, you'll get all relaxed and happy. And, sex while you're high is fantastic." Sammy held out the joint again.

He swallowed again. Chewed on his lower lip. Tugged on his fingers. Stepped forward and took the joint. It was in his lips and he was inhaling. The smoke was thick and sort of sweet. Heady. His head spun from it.

His lungs caught. He coughed and handed it back to Sammy. Tears stood in his eyes and he wiped at them, still coughing.

"See? Not so bad." He stuck it in his mouth and inhaled again.

"I guess." Michael sat down. Coughed a few more times. "When am I supposed to feel something?"

"Depends. Different all the time for different people." He passed the joint back to Michael.

It made his head spin again. This time it didn't stop.

"Feel anything?"

"Dizzy."

"Good dizzy or bad dizzy?"

Michael shrugged. "Dunno."

"You should try drawing," Sammy said. "All these guys I know who are artists. They tell me that it makes you draw totally better."

"Really?"

"On the outside, I was, like, a writer, you know? And when I was high, I had all these ideas, you know? Just pouring out of me." He inhaled again. Passed it back to Michael.

"I think I have enough ideas as it is," Michael said. He rubbed his forehead before sticking the joint back into his mouth. "Can't stop them sometimes." He coughed and passed it back to Sammy. "It's safer just doing portraits. Not what she wants me to do."

"Who? You're muse?"

He shook his head. "Abigail. The art teacher. The world, whatever. They keep sending stuff. Commissions. Requests. Begging. Like the tattoo. Everyone wants my tattoo."

"It's cool." He swallowed. "Dude, I'm thirsty. Got anything to drink?"

"Under the bed."

Sammy got up. Practically fell to the floor as he got to his hands and knees. Fished out a bottle of water and a can of soda. "Which do you want?"

"Don't care." He didn't care about a lot these days. Not being bothered. Keeping Alex happy. Alex not leaving him. Alex not getting bored or frustrated. Not being raped. Not being noticed. That's what he cared about.

Apparently giving up on waiting, Sammy set the soda and the water on the table. Then he grabbed two more from under the bed and crawled back to the table. "I don't get hungry," he said, cracking open the soda. "I mean, sometimes. But I get thirsty. Are you thirsty?"

Michael shrugged. He didn't know what he felt. No more or less numb than he'd been feeling for the past four months. Just dizzier.

"So, you never did pot? Thought I heard a rumor that you were a foster kid kid."

"Didn't want to. Never interested. I've got this thing where I notice everything, right? Why add drugs to that. Just freak me out."

"Oh." Sammy chugged about half the can of soda. "So, you doing okay now? 'cause you should be hallucinating or anything."

"I'm not." He took a bottle of water and cracked it open. "I'm dizzy."

"It's fine. It's just the pot." He took another hit. "Got this for free, you know. Not free. Sucked off the dealer. Good deal, if you ask me." Another hit. "Any time I don't gotta give over money or something for this shit is a good day."

"You willingly... do that?"

"You judging? You're the one who's gay, right?"

Michael shook his head. "Not judging. I just... isn't it better to give money and stuff?"

"Naw, then when you can't pay, they rape you. If you give 'em sex right off, you know. It's already there. And never runs out." Sammy shrugged. "It's mostly just blowjobs and stuff. Nothing else. Usually."

His hands started to shake. "How can you?"

"I need something to get me through this," Sammy said. Finished the soda and crushed the can against the wall. "Time in here sucks. I've been here three years. I've got four years left. That's one thousand, four hundred, sixty days. No way am I doing it sober." He dropped the can on the floor.

The world spun around him. He could see people walking past the cell, glancing in, moving away. Feel the hard plastic of his chair bite against his skin. Sammy had three freckles next to his left ear. A dark spot at the corner of his eye. A scar on his chin. The back of his hands were dusted with light blond hair. One nail was crooked in the bed, damaged some time passed. Lincoln had the same thing. The crazy burning foster lady had slammed Lincoln's fingers in the door once. The nail had bruised. Bled, swelled up and eventually fallen off. The nail underneath had never been the same.

Time disappeared. Sammy rambled on and on about stuff. Michael's head spun, thoughts and images just sort of whirling around. His stomach made slow circles. He finished all the water he and Alex had stored. Ate a cupcake from their stash, but that only made his stomach worse.

"Ah, shit. It's almost out," Sammy said. "Here." He held it out to Michael.

"Sammy," Alex said from the opening of the cell. "You have two seconds to get out of this cell before I kill you. One..."

The chair Sammy was sitting in hit the floor.

Michael blinked. "You're done already?"

"I've been gone an hour. Class is..."

"Count!"

Michael stumbled as he walked. His feet were heavy. Head heavier. Alex grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the line. Held him up until count was over and they were sent back to their cells until dinner.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Alex demanded, voice more forceful than the clang of the bars as they shut.

"Talking," Michael lied, stumbling back to his bunk. He fell face first onto it. "He just wanted to talk."

"And smoked a joint."

"He thought it'd relax me." Michael rolled onto his back.

Alex had the sheet lowered. He untied his shoes and pulled them off, then crawled into bed next to Michael. "You ever done drugs before? Nonprescription, I mean."

He shook his head. "I'm thirsty."

"Well, it looks like you'll have to stick your head under the faucet and slurp. You drank everything else." He stroked along Michael's collarbone, propped up on his fist and elbow.

"That's disgusting. The sink is disgusting. It's a health violation."

"I know your opinions on it. You know I share them. However, right now, we're kind of out of luck for anything sanitary." He shrugged. "Of course, we have cleaned the damn sink inside and out. It's probably safer than we think."

"Don't want it."

"Okay." He was laughing. He was actually laughing, the bed shaking as his chest heaved with silent laughter.

Michael frowned. "Do you have any of that candy?"

"I do. Hang on." He climbed out of bed and went to the dresser. When he came back, he had a handful of Wintergreen Lifesavers. "Here you go."

"Thanks." It took a little bit for him to be able to rip open the cellophane. His fingers felt as if they were gloved.

"Want me to... Never mind," Alex said when he got the candy open.

Michael stuffed the candy into his mouth. Sucked hard. "We should have sex," Michael said, rolling onto his side.

Alex blinked. "What?"

"Sex." He climbed on top of Alex. Kissed him hard. "Right now. Before dinner."

For some reason, Alex cracked up. His arms came around Michael and held him. He lifted his head, still laughing, and kissed him.

Michael tried to deepen the kiss, but Alex wouldn't let him. Just pulled away and kissed him on the forehead. "God, I love you."

"Really?"

"I do," he said, becoming serious. He kissed Michael softly on the mouth. "And I don't want you doing drugs."

"I'm an adult. I can do what I want." He climbed off Alex and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Um, not as long as you're sharing a cell with me," Alex said. He sat up. "You do not want to get involved with the drug scene, Michael, believe me. It can be nasty. Not just because of what can happen if you don't pay up. But the drugs themselves. God. I've seen people keel over because a batch of drugs were bad. Bleeding out their noses, vomiting blood. I don't want that to happen to you."

"It was just a little pot."

"Wasn't that what your brother was high on the night he didn't kill Steadman?"

Michael licked his lips. He didn't have an answer.

"Your brother was an addict, wasn't he? Maybe not to pot, but in general. Do you really want to even look down that road? I can tell you from experience, it's not fun."

Michael rubbed his eyes. "I'm tired of being tense and nervous all the time."

"I know." He pulled Michael back into his arms and lay down. Pressed his lips into Michael's temple. "I know you are. But you're going to have to deal with it a little bit longer."

"How long?"

"I don't know. But I'm not going anywhere." He wiped away the tears that were wetting Michael's face.

He sniffed. "I'm so tired."

Alex kissed him again. And again. Stroked his face. "Then sleep."

"That's not what I mean." His chest hurt. His head hurt. Everything hurt.

Alex's arms tightened around him. He rested his cheek on Michael's hair. "I know, Michael," he whispered. "I know."


	21. Chapter 21

For the rest of the day, Alex kept an eye on Michael. The effects of the pot mostly wore off by dinner, although he still seemed a little slow and easily distracted. And incredibly thirsty. He'd finished his juice by the time they'd sat down and gone back for more. His eyes were bright red and his was clumsy. Luckily, dinner was macaroni, not only Michael's favorite, but easy to manage.

"Anyone see Sammy?" O'Connell asked as he sat down. "He was right behind me."

"He's not welcome here today," Alex said. He saw Michael--whose plate was almost empty--eyeing his macaroni. With a sigh, he turned the plate around so Michael could have access.

O'Connell looked over Michael. "Ah, shit. The kid get you high?"

"Yeah," Michael said. He finished his last macaroni. "Alex caught us. I guess he is my daddy."

O'Connell and Randall both snorted.

"Hey, what so funny?" Jacks demanded, sitting down next to Michael. "You want my macaroni, man? I hate this shit."

"Yeah, thanks." Michael stuck his fork into the orange-yellow mass on Jack's plate, picked up a gelatinous glob and stuffed it in his mouth.

"You had to be here," Alex said to Jacks. He was working on the limp, browning stuff that passed for salad in this place. "Anyone else think the food is getting worse?" he asked.

"Past few weeks, yeah. It's definitely been going downhill," O'Connell said. "How long is Sammy ostracized for?"

Alex shrugged. "Rest of the day at least. More if he tries this stunt again." He bit into a tomato. "For all I know, it was a scheme to get Michael addicted and thus made a slave of the drug lords around here."

Michael snickered. "Alex is reading a lot of crime dramas these days. Can you tell?"

"Isn't that all he ever reads?" said Randall. "He is FBI, after all."

"Most procedural dramas get it all wrong," Alex said. "Or at least enough wrong to tick me off. Or, I just don't want to watch or read because it's what I do. However... I miss it right now, so..."

"Ah, poor FBI," mocked Jacks. "Locked up here on the inside with all us criminals. How do you stand it, being such an upstanding guy such as yourself?"

Michael flicked a forkful of macaroni at Jacks. "Be nice." Then he took a forkful from Alex's plate.

Jacks flicked the macaroni back at Michael. "You better watch out, Blueprints or I'll... Dude, what's wrong?"

"Michael?"

Michael doubled over suddenly. Grabbed a napkin and spat into it. He coughed a couple time, then convulsed.

"Michael, shit!" Alex grabbed for him, but Michael pushed his chair quickly back from the table and darted to the nearest trashcan.

He didn't throw up, but he heaved and gagged and spat into the can. His face was red, face twisted.

"Hey, FBI," Jacks said. He was combing through Alex's macaroni. It was laced with green.

"Is that relish?" Alex asked, voice flat.

"Looks like it to me."

He turned.

The guys working foods, specifically the ones serving the macaroni, were laughing and patting each other on the back. Their hateful gazes were pointed towards Michael, who was still spitting into the trashcan.

Arms were around him, restraining, before Alex realized he'd moved.

"It's not worth it," Randall said, holding him tight. "It was a prank. Let it go."

"I'm going to kill those fucking assholes." He surged against his restraints, but three men dragged him back.

"Let it go, Alex," he said again. "They're already scared, look. They aren't going to do something like this again. Just let it go."

"There a problem here?" a CO demanded, coming over.

Alex was released. He tugged shirt straight. "They fucked with my food. Mixed it with relish."

The CO looked automatically with Michael, who's aversion to the stuff was well known by now. Michael was wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, red eyed, drippy nose, and looking miserable.

The guard turned. "You two think that's funny?"

"We didn't do nothing."

"Yeah, well, good thing you didn't do nothing and ain't got nothing to do. I think the floor could use a good scrub down, don't you? Hands and knees after chow's done." He turned to Michael. "I'll see if there's any crackers or anything in the back. Doc will kill us if you start puking up your food."

"Thanks." He glanced at Alex's plate. "Get it away, please?"

"Yeah. Hang on." Alex grabbed his plate and dumped the tainted food into the trashcan. "Fucking assholes," he muttered.

"Alex, it's fine."

Alex turned back to the table. Michael was sitting back down, looking weary. Rubbing his red-eyes, slumped over. Face painted red with humiliation.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," Michael said. "It was actually pretty clever. They didn't touch my food, knew I'd go after you. Strategizing for optimum amusement."

"Eat this, Blueprints," Jacks said. He passed Michael a roll.

"Thanks." He tore into it. "When Lisa was pregnant with LJ, my brother used to complain that he didn't know which of us was worse with food." He took another bite. "Lisa said it was me, hands down."

"And you?" Alex asked. He pressed his fingers into Michael's arm.

"Oh, I agreed. Completely. Lisa was all ice cream and peanut butter and peanuts. Once she wanted sardines and a hot fudge sundae, but, mostly, they had to dance around my delicate appetite."

"Scofield," the guard said, coming back. "Here." He handed over a waxed paper covered column of crackers and a cookie. "They do anything else, you tell me, got it?"

Michael smiled beatifically. "Thanks, boss. But it was just a prank. It'll be fine."

The guard rolled his eyes. Left.

"Why don't you like relish?" Randall asked.

"It was pretty much all I had to eat one month when I was ten," Michael answered through a mouthful of crackers. "Can't stand the stuff now."

This time he put his hand on the back of Michael's neck. Massaged tense muscles. "Don't blame you."

Michael quirked his mouth. Leaned back against Alex's hand and closed his eyes. "After Lisa and Lincoln broke up," he said, "and I went to live with Lincoln, he could never figure out what to feed me. I drove him crazy. He finally had to ask Lisa if I could live with her again. Not just because of the food thing, but that was kind of the final straw. There was no food in the house, and he brought home these really greasy burgers and fries. I tried to eat them, I really did, but I was so hungry and the grease and pickles and onions just... I was so sick. And it wasn't the first time, so Linc realized he couldn't do it. He went to Lisa and begged her to take me in, just until he got his act together."

"Did she?"

"Lisa loved me," he said, nodding. "And I loved LJ. Her too, of course, but mostly LJ. She got a devoted babysitter and I got regular meals, a clean place to live, and a steady life. It was nice." He frowned suddenly. "What's the date?"

Everyone exchanged looks. Time was nearly irrelevant in here, and days blended in to one another.

"July 17," O'Connell finally said.

Michael stood. "I need to go call LJ. I'll meet you back in the cell?" he said to Alex.

"Yeah." He hated not being able to kiss Michael when they parted. Still, they made it a habit to brush their fingers together, lightly, discreetly. It wasn't enough, but they had to make do.

Alex finished eating, then went back to his cell. His book was on his bunk; he grabbed it, climbed into Michael's bed, and opened it. He'd read almost three chapters before Michael returned.

"You okay?" he asked.

Michael, subdued, thoughtful, lost in his mind, nodded.

"How's LJ?"

"Okay." Said in a way to indicate the opposite. But he seemed disinclined to elaborate, so Alex didn't push.

"I feel gross," Michael said. He flopped, face first, next to Alex.

"Oh?" He rolled onto his side and slipped his hand underneath his shirt. Rubbed his back.

"Yeah. I can feel the pot smoke just on me. Like coating my skin. And now I'm sweaty, too. Stupid asses. That prank wasn't even funny."

"Hey, I offered to beat them up, but your friends wouldn't let me."

Michael rolled onto his back. "I don't want you getting into fights for me," he said. He fisted Alex's shirt and tugged him.

Alex carefully rolled on top of him. Kissed the proffered lips, sinking into the admittedly sticky and smelly man he'd come to love to much. Threaded his fingers into the luscious hair, groaned softly as Michael's tongue flicked against his.

"I love you," Michael whispered.

"I love you, too." He lightly nipped Michael's bottom lip. Kissed his cheek. His ear. Neck.

Michael wrapped his arms around Alex's neck. Pressed his head against Alex's shoulder. "Do you want to have sex with me?"

"Right now?"

"In general. In the future."

"Yes."

"What kind? I mean, when you say sex, what do you think of?"

Oh. Good question. "I'm not sure. I like what we've done, just rubbing against each other. Although I'd like to do it naked some time, when you feel up to it. Blow jobs would be nice. I've never done it, but I'd like to give it a try." He combed through Michael's hair. "As for the other stuff..."

"Do you want to top or bottom?"

"I want it all, if possible. I've never bottomed, I'd like to. See what it's like. Wouldn't mind being on top sometime." He kissed Michael's temple; Michael wasn't looking at him. "When you're ready."

"Chris only liked to top. One time, I put my hand between his cheeks and he freaked. Yelled at me and left."

"He sounds like he had a lot of issues."

"He did." Finally, finally, he moved his head. Opened his eyes and looked at Alex. "I had a knife in me. I mean, Nicky stuck a knife inside my butt." He licked his lips. "It's going to be a real long time before I'll feel comfortable with anything getting near me there. Fingers, tongue, penis, whatever."

Alex's heart pounded. He nodded. "I understand."

Michael gave him a sad, half-smile. "Well. I hope you don't. No one should have to understand. But okay."

"Shower!" CO shouted from the floor.

Michael licked his lips. "I have to take a shower. I feel gross."

"All right. Do you mind if I go?"

"No. Come."

He nodded. "I won't look," he promised, pushing himself off Michael.

"No. Look." Michael sat up, holding on to Alex's shirt. "I couldn't stand it if everyone else looked at me and you didn't. Look."

"You sure?"

Michael nodded, determination, fear, love al in his eyes. "I'm sure."

Alex nodded. He couldn't help the heat in his cheeks, the sense of embarrassment. The feel of the forbidden. "All right," he said. "Then I'll look." He took Michel's hand. Rose. "Let's go."

* * *

"I wasn't scared when I jumped off the high dive, Mom," Cameron said.

"I know," she said, unclocking him from his car seat. "I saw what a brave boy you were."

"Did you see me Lincoln?" he asked. He jumped to the sidewalk and beamed up at Lincoln. "I waved to you."

"I saw you." He reached down and swooped Cameron into his arms. "You were flying, buddy." Wrapping his arm around Cameron's middle, he began to run for the front door.

Cameron squealed and started laughing hysterically, arms out like a superhero.

Pam followed, smiling indulgently. Cameron was such a different boy since they'd moved. Bright and outgoing. He was making friends everywhere he went: the pool, the park, his baseball team. He was happy. Laughing. Running around and playing, no longer afraid that he might hurt himself if he set so much as a toe outside without either her or Nemo.

Lincoln and LJ had been a Godsend to their family. Not just for Cameron, but for her. For the first time in years, she wasn't alone.

"So, where are we going for lunch?" Lincoln asked as he opened the door.

"McDonalds!" Cameron crowed.

"No junk food," said Pam as she followed. "Maybe we should go to a restaurant. Get something real to eat?"

"Ah, Mom!"

"Ah, Cameron," she whined back. Lincoln had flipped Cameron over, so his head was hanging down and he blinked at her. She kissed his chin. "Vegetables. Chicken."

"French fries! Hamburgers!"

"Salad." She kissed his chin again. "Peas."

"No!" he shrieked.

Lincoln hauled Cameron up and gave him a raspberry. "Lots and lots of peas!" he said. "We'll stuff them all down your throat."

"No!" Cameron shrieked again, laughing hysterically. "No peas!"

Lincoln tucked Cameron under his arm and began tickling. Poor Cameron lost it. He writhed and twisted and giggled but couldn't get away.

Pam laughed, enjoying the show, when she caught something out of the corner of her eye. She turned to see LJ standing at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes were red, puffy, face a thundercloud.

"Hi, LJ," she said cautiously.

He looked at her. "Hey, Pam. How was swimming?"

"Good. He passed his class. Guppy. He was promoted to level one."

"You're not a fish anymore after you pass Guppy?"

Pam shook her head. "I guess not. Cam decided he's a clown fish, though. He doesn't like the idea of just being level one."

"Put me down!" Cameron suddenly screamed, a panicked note in his voice. "Gotta pee!"

"Okay." Lincoln set him on his feet. "Go."

There was a blur, a slammed door.

"Hey, LJ," Lincoln said, coming over. "Why aren't you at drama?"

He shrugged. "I called in sick."

"You sick?" He reached out to feel LJ's forehead, but LJ pulled back.

"I just didn't feel like going. Okay?"

Oh, crap.

"Hey, you're the one who wanted this," Lincoln shot back, reacting more to LJ's tone than anything else. "It's no skin off my nose if you don't see it through. You don't want to follow through on your commitments, fine. You're life, not mine."

"Like you even care."

"Linc..."

"Of course I care! I'm your father, I..."

"Oh, you're my father? You sure about that? Because you sure as fuck don't act like it. You're too busy with Cameron and Pam to notice anything else. Self-centered, like always! Don't know why I ever thought you'd change!"

"LJ," Pam snapped. "What..."

Lincoln interrupted. "Of course I'm there for you! You're the one that..."

"Bullshit!" LJ screamed. "You don't care about me, you never have! The only person who's ever cared is Uncle Mike and Mom, and where are they? Because of you, Mom is dead and the only person who gives a fuck about me is locked away from me."

"I love you," Lincoln said. "I care about you."

"All you care about is her!" LJ pointed at Pam, face red, eyes bright with tears. "All you love is her and Cameron! And you aren't even fucking dating! I don't get you, Dad. Are you so incapable of loving anyone but yourself that you can't even ask her out? I..." His voice broke and, like that, he was gone.

Lincoln shook his head. He looked completely perplexed. "What the hell was that?"

Pam shook her head. "He's upset about something."

"He shouldn't have.... I'll go talk to him."

"No." She grabbed his arm. "You, go take Cameron home. Get him changed. I'll talk to LJ. I think you'll just upset him more."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Go." She slid her hand to his. Squeezed, then went upstairs.

LJ's room had all the prerequisite stickers and signs, proclaiming his love for various bands and his intense desire for personal space. She rapped on the door above the, "Keep Out," sign.

"Go away!"

"LJ. It's me. I want to talk to you." When there was no answer, she twisted the knob and went inside.

LJ was face down on his bed, pillow over his head.

Pam crossed the room. Sat down on the edge and put her hand on his back. "What's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Yes you do. You stayed home because you wanted to talk about it. And maybe you'd rather talk about it with your father, but you're too upset right now. You need to talk about it with someone else before you do him. And I'm here."

He rolled onto his back and pulled the pillow off. Tears were running from his eyes. "I know he didn't love my mom. I get that. But, God, could he be more self-centered? I mean, even if he tried?"

"I'm sorry you feel that way. I see a different side of him."

"Of course you do. He loves you!"

"He loves you, too."

"No he doesn't. He doesn't even know anything about me!"

"Baby, you don't tell him things. How can he know you if you don't talk to him? He wants to know you. He wants to be a good father to you. He just doesn't know how."

A fresh wave of tears flowed from his eyes. "He should know this. He should.... Uncle Mike knew and..."

"LJ, what is it?"

"It's my mom's birthday."

Her heart broke. "Oh, honey." Pam pulled him up to her, held him tightly as he sobbed on her shoulder. He clung to her, face buried in the crook of her neck, tears dampening her skin. "I'm sorry, LJ. I'm so sorry," she whispered, stroking his hair.

"God, I miss her so much," he sobbed. "And I see her. Getting shot. Drying, because of me."

"No. It wasn't your fault."

"If I hadn't been so screwed up. If I hadn't been so self-centered, maybe it wouldn't have happened."

"You being good would have stopped an entire government conspiracy?"

He snorted. "Guess not. But I miss her."

"I know." She kissed his head. "What do you want to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"How do you want to celebrate your mother's birthday? Do you want to visit her grave? Have a cake? Sit around and look through old photo? Or do you want to distract yourself and do something fun?"

LJ sat up. Wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I wouldn't mind going to her grave. I haven't been in awhile."

"All right." She kissed his forehead. "Clean up. Get dressed. Make sure you wash your face and comb your hair. I'll go round up Lincoln and Cameron."

He smiled at her almost shyly. "Really?"

"Of course."

He hugged her. "Thanks."

Pam sighed and squeezed him tightly. "You're welcome."

She held him until he pulled away again. Then, giving him one more kiss on the forehead, she left his room.

Lincoln was downstairs with Cameron, reading. He looked up when she came in. "What happened?"

"We are going to visit Lisa's grave," Pam said. She went to the couch and took Cameron's hand. "Go get dressed. Cameron and I will meet you here in a few minutes."

"Lisa's grave? Why?"

"It's her birthday. And LJ wants to celebrate it."

The look that crossed over Lincoln's face was indescribable. He closed his eyes. Put his fist to his forehead. Swore under his breath. "I can't believe.... I don't think I ever remembered when she was alive."

Pam crooked a half smile. "Well. Now it's really important. So you better remember." She pat him on the shoulder. "Go get dressed. Something nice."

He nodded. "Yeah. Of course."

"Come on, Cameron."

"Pam. Wait."

She turned. "Yes?"

Lincoln rose from the couch. Swallowed. Crossed the floor and took her around the waist. Pulled her to him.

Her spine melted as he kissed her. Toes curled. His hand was so big, so strong, pressed against the small of her back. The other cupped her cheek, twined in her hair. When he released her, she was dizzy. Flushed. Completely turned around and disoriented.

"I love you," he said.

She blinked. Blushed. "Um. Thank you. I mean, I... do... too... I just..." She looked down. Picked Cameron up. "Come on, honey. We need to go change."

"Is Lincoln going to be my new daddy?" Cameron asked as she made her way to the door.

Pam had no idea how to answer.


	22. Chapter 22

"It's not a present," Alex said as Michael fussed with the tissue paper in the gift bag. "It's more of a commission, except Pam isn't paying. You're not giving her a gift."

Michael scowl and pulled the painting out for the fifth time. "I can't just take it out there and hand it to her," he said. He began to wrap the paper around the canvas. "I'd look stupid. And you know how graceless I can be. I'll stick my foot in my mouth."

He smiled and touched Michael's shoulder. "And putting it in a bag will help stop that?"

"It'll take a few minutes to open it. I can think of what to say."

"Two things, darling boy. One, if it takes Pam a few *minutes* to open a gift bag, I'm sincerely worried for her. Two, why can't you think of something to say *before* we go out there? Like, right now. Something along the lines of, 'Here's the painting, Pam. I hope you like it.'"

"Oh, sure, it sounds easy. And is, in theory. In reality, I'm giving a painting to my boyfriend's ex-wife of the child they had together."

"Say it louder."

Michael rolled his eyes and stopped what he was doing. "You guys hear me?" he asked of the cons milling around outside there cell.

One of them glanced back. "Your cell soundproof or something, Blueprints?"

"Any of you shocked and surprised by what I just said?"

"Having a hear attack of shock," he said dryly, then turned back to his conversation.

Michael shot Alex a look. "It's not like we're walking around here holding hands or anything."

He shrugged, still uncomfortable with it but not really having a reason why. It was one thing to be with Michael. It was one thing to know everyone knew about them. It was another to talk about it so casually. "Sorry."

"It's fine," he said, shrugging. He finished wrapping the painting. "I get it. I'm the one who'll get hassled, right? Everyone thinks I'm the punk."

"Hey," Alex called out the cell.

This time, they all turned. "What?"

"Any of you think Michael's my punk?"

They all snorted and rolled their eyes. Then they walked away, muttering among themselves.

"A punk is a sexual subservient. A commodity to be lent out. You are neither."

"Yes, master."

He smacked Michael lightly on the side of the head.

"Oh, looks like I'm walking into something interesting."

"Hey, Ricky," Michael said. He smiled.

Alex wanted to rip the other man's throat out.

"Hey, I know you got visitors coming and all, but I found Trivial Pursuit in the closet in the rec room. You guys want to play sometime?"

"You're inviting us to play a game?" Alex asked, careful to keep his voice cold.

"Not many people in this place want to play anything but cards and checkers and stuff. But you two are the smartest guys here, besides me. So, thought we could match wits."

"Are you joking?"

"We'd love to," Michael said. "Or, I would. Him, I'm not sure."

"I'm not leaving you alone with him," Alex said. He put his hand on Michael's shoulder and glared at Ricky.

The other man never noticed. He only had eyes for Michael. Big, huge, moon calf eyes in his stupid, too-handsome face that looked ten thousand times better alongside Michael's than his own haggard features.

But that was neither here nor there.

"Okay, so maybe tomorrow?"

"Sounds good. See you then."

"Michael, I was wondering..."

"Good-bye, Ricky," Alex interrupted. "Return to your handlers now."

"Oh, fuck you, FBI. Michael, here." He pulled a photograph out of his pocket and handed it over to Michael.

Michael took it. Turned it over in his hands. "It'll have to be more than three hundred," he said, looking over the picture. "Not only is it multiple subjects, but I know you can afford it."

Ricky nodded. "Whatever you want, Michael. But my mom really wants a family portrait done, and..."

"With Nicky in it? Does she know that he raped you continually?"

Ah, there was go. Not so pretty when he's all closed off and defensive.

"Alex," Michael said. "Don't be an asshole." He turned to Ricky. "Sorry. We can talk about this later. At dinner. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure. He's not welcome."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Ricky shrugged. Turned and stalked away.

"What the hell was that for?"

"He wants you."

"I don't want him. I want you. I love you. And I don't like this possessive, *mean* crap you pull when someone looks at me sideways. Sammy was trying to *help* and maybe it was a stupid way, but I'm the one who gave in. And Ricky was trying to be nice."

"Right. Meaning he's changed tactics to get to you."

"Did it ever occur to you he might be lonely? You're the one who has all the information on him. You're the one who learned how smart he is, how gifted. He's lonely and bored. We--both of us, not just me, he invited both--care match him intellectually. So, despite your differences and the mob's influence over him, he asked us both to play. And you're being an asshole." Michael frowned. "Do you really think I'm like that? That'd I'd just... fall for someone else?"

Alex shook his head. "No." He sighed. "No, I don't. I'm just so worried about you."

"Don't be. Ricky isn't going to do anything to me."

"And you don't think it's a little crass for him to ask you to do a picture his brother's in?"

Michael shrugged. "Drawing gives me a sense of control over the world. Drawing Nicky might help me have a sense of control over him." He hesitated. Clenched his hands on his thighs. "It's not like it's the first time I've drawn him."

Oh.

And just like that, he felt hollowed out. Sick and stupid. "Oh." He sat down on the bed.

Michael moved closer to him. "Don't worry about me so much." He ran his fingers over the hair behind Alex's ear. "Or, at least, don't view everyone as a threat. You'll wear yourself out. Make yourself sick. And, worse, you'll make everyone your enemy."

"Scofield, Alex," a guard said, appearing in the doorway to the cell. "Visitors."

Michael stuffed the painting into the bag and rose. "Thanks, boss. You okay?" he asked Alex.

"Yeah." Alex rose. "Yeah, I'm fine. Let's go."

"You sure?"

He left without answering. Right now, he really wasn't in the mood to see anyone, not even his son. But it wasn't as if he could send them away. Pam's time was precious, and it wasn't as if she could just waltz into the prison at any time. There was paperwork to fill out, IDs to be checked, time spent waiting around. He couldn't not go because he was in a bad mood.

He and Michael were escorted to the visitor's room. They were searched quickly, then the guard said, "They, uh. Lincoln asked if he could talk to you alone, Alex. Just for a few minutes. We figured since you guys always sit together, it'd be okay. If you don't mind."

Alex glanced at Michael, who shrugged. "Probably something about Pam."

"You think?"

"Or me. Either way, it's not like he's going to hurt you or anything." He looked at the guard. "I do get to see him, right?"

"Yeah. Just, he asked if you could hang back a few minutes."

Michael nodded. "Fine with me."

The guard opened the door and let Alex in. Lincoln was at their usual table, looking nervous. He rose when Alex entered.

"Hey," Alex said easily, holding out his hand to shake. "What's going..."

"I want to date your wife," he interrupted in a rush.

Heads turned to look at them.

Alex sighed. "Repeat after me, Lincoln. Ex-wife. You want to date my *ex*-wife."

"Right. Whatever. I want to date Pam."

"Okay. I want to date your brother."

Lincoln clenched his jaw. "It's different. You and Pam were married. You have a kid together. It's different."

"Okay." He sat down. Rubbed his head, since the ache that had started at Ricky's appearance wasn't fading. "I assume Pam wants to date you?"

"Yeah."

"Did she say you had to get my blessing?"

He ducked his head and replied, "She said you were going to laugh in my face if I asked. But I want to do the right thing, here. You mean a lot to Michael. Pam and Cameron mean a lot to me. I don't want to cause any friction between us."

"Lincoln, it's not like I didn't see this coming. Of course you can date her. I want her to be happy. I wasn't the man to do that. And I'm in here. You're out there, you get along." He shrugged. "Don't hurt her."

"I won't," he promised.

Alex smirked. "I know better than to threaten you here, but you know the consequences."

"I won't hurt her."

Alex studied Lincoln for a moment, just to make him squirm. The man was, after all, dating his wife. Then, just as Lincoln started to look nervous, he smiled and held out his hand. "We're good."

Lincoln's smile was blinding. "Thank you so much."

A few minutes later, the rest of the family was together. Michael and LJ had hugged hard when they'd come in. According to Pam, the phone call Michael had made the week before was because it'd been Lisa's birthday. No one else had remembered, and the fact Michael had meant a lot to LJ.

Alex really felt for the kid. Michael had told him how Lincoln had so rarely been there while LJ was growing up. Weekends, holidays, a little in between. But, from the time Michael had been fifteen until he'd graduated from high school, he'd been there, every day. Brother, baby-sitter, surrogate father. During vacations from college, he'd spent more time with LJ than his own friends, and when he'd settled in to his firm, he and Lisa had practically shared custody. And Lincoln had... struggled. Now, though, Michael was locked away and Lincoln was left with a teenager of Michael's making.

No wonder the kid was so confused.

Michael released LJ. Keeping on hand on his arm, he turned to Pam. "Here's the painting," he said, holding out the bag. "I hope you like it."

She smiled at him. "Thank you so much, Michael. I really appreciate it." She set the bag on the table and pulled the painting out.

Alex could tell the exact moment her throat closed. Whenever she was moved to tear, her breath always caught. She would bite her lower lip. Tears would suddenly crowd in her eyes.

Pam let out a shaky breath. "Oh," she breathed. "My goodness, Michael. It's perfect." She laid the picture on the table. Covered her mouth with her hands.

He blushed and lowered his eyes. "It's not..."

LJ slapped his hand over Michael's mouth. "He says thank you, Pam."

She glanced up at him. Smiled and wiped at her tears with the knuckle of her index finger. "I'm the one who should be thanking you, Michael. It's just lovely." She crossed to him and pulled Michael into a hug.

"That's me," Cameron, who was sitting in Alex's life, whispered in his ear.

"It is. Do you like it?" he asked softly back.

Cameron nodded. "Michael did it?"

"He did."

He nodded again. Chewed on his lower lip. "Daddy? Is Lincoln going to be my daddy now? Because he kissed Mom?"

Alex sighed. Stood with Cameron in his arms and retreated to a quiet corner. "He might be," he said, rubbing Cameron's back. "If he and Mommy decide to get married, then he would be your step-father. But that doesn't mean I won't still be your daddy. I'll always be your daddy."

"Even though you're in here?"

"Even though I'm in here."

He chewed on his lower lip. Took Alex's hand and began to run his fingers over it. "When are you going to come home, Daddy?"

"Not for a long time, buddy. And when I get out, I'm not going to move in with you and Mommy."

"Because of Lincoln?"

"No, because your mom and I are divorced."

"Because you don't love each other?"

"I love her very much. And she loves me. But then I did something very bad so I sent her away to protect her. You, too."

"You love me, right?"

"Always, Cameron." He kissed Cameron's forehead, then the soft little mouth, knowing that soon, his son would be too big for that. And he'd miss it. He was going to miss it all.

So he kissed Cameron again, stroked his back and held him tight. "I will love you forever and always."


	23. Chapter 23

The look on Ricky's face when Michael sat down across from him was priceless. Both eyebrows up, mouth open, fork stopped halfway to his mouth.

"You look like a fish," Michael said. He picked up his fork and began disassembling his meatloaf, picking out the onions.

There was an audible click of teeth. The scrape of a fork on the plate. "I can't believe your handler let you out."

"That's as much an insult to me as it is to him, you know."

Ricky shrugged. "Right. Sorry. Your blessed protector, then. I can't believe he let you over here."

"I am my own man. I can do what I want."

"He know that?"

Michael sighed. "I wish you two would stop it. I'm so not worth getting into a pissing match over."

"Yes," Ricky said, voice soft. "You are."

Startled, Michael looked at him.

The look on Ricky's face was wistful. Gentle. Full of longing.

Michael shifted. Dropped his eyes. There was heat in his cheeks, and his stomach fluttered nervously. The thing was, Ricky was attractive. Soft brown hair, big eyes, full lips. The kind of man Michael might have gone for on the outside. In a world without Alex.

He wasn't tempted in the least. He did have Alex, and there were too many issues surrounding Ricky. It was just... no one ever regarded him like this before. He'd never been the object of someone's desires Not the way he was of Alex and, apparently, Ricky. It was an uncomfortable position to be in.

"So, uh. Let's talk about the portrait."

"Oh, right. I decided that, uh. I don't want that picture."

He looked up. "You don't? Is it because of what Alex said?"

"No." Then his cheeks darkened. "Yes. Sort of." He rubbed the knuckled of his thumb over his forehead. "I found a better picture of just my mother and father. And since it's their anniversary, I thought maybe it should just be that." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the picture. "So. Here." Slid it across the table.

Michael took it. It was a lovely picture, a snapshot taken at some family gathering, he guessed. She was sitting, he was standing beside her. They were holding hands, smiling at the camera. "I can do this," he said. He took the other picture and handed it back.

Ricky sat back, both elbows resting against the edge of the table. He sighed softly as he studied the picture. "The thing is, he's really not that bad. I mean, I'm not excusing what he did to you. That was just... he shouldn't have done that. But I mean, to me. He wasn't so bad to me."

"Alex told me that he really messed you up. Choked you and all."

"Yeah, but that's just... it's just how he is. He's not gay. But he's stuck in her without anyone. So he turns to me."

"That doesn't make it right," Michael said. "Doesn't make rape right."

"He didn't rape me," Ricky said, voice hard. "Say that one more time, and you can just get up and walk away, got it?"

Michael swallowed. Nodded. "Got it."

"Like I said, Nicky was special. Needed support. Care. He depended on me." He licked his bottom lip. Chewed on it. "I shouldn't have turned him in."

"You did what you had to do."

"I was selfish. And the thing that kills me, is I'd probably do it again." He sighed and pressed his fingers into his closed eyes. "I'm so tired of this, baby doll. This wasn't what I was supposed to do with my life. I was going to be a scientist. Wanted to be an astronaut. Me, can you believe it? With my family history?" He gave Michael a shadow of a smile. "And they wanted me to. When I was in school, a kid, and got A's as easy as breathing, they all treated me like I was something special. Even Nicky. He'd keep the bullies off my back, let me do my thing. Live in my head.

"It wasn't until we were in high school. He wanted to double date. When I said I wasn't interested in anyone, he foisted a girl off on me. We parked. He and his girl started having sex in the back seat, and I didn't know what to do with mine. He said it was fine, after. That if I was a late bloomer, it was cool. He'd help me out." Ricky swallowed. "About a week later, he caught me in the locker room with this guy on the swim team. He just went crazy." He shook his head. "Said I was his. Said no one else could touch me. When my dad asked me asked me what happened, I just said I'd gotten into a fight. Nicky told me to tell him that." He looked up at Michael. "They wouldn't believe me anyway. Just screw them up. Tear us apart. Bad enough their baby genius ain't gonna go into space. Ain't gonna be president. I don't want to be the one who tells them..."

"I understand," Michael said.

"Why him?" Ricky asked suddenly, voice changing.

"What?"

"Why him? Alex. Why do you want him? Why are you so fucking in love with him?"

Michael squirmed. "And not you?"

"For starters. He's twenty years older than you. He chased you and your brother across the country. Didn't he kill your father, too? He's not that good looking. He's... not even gay, for Christ's sake. You're hooking up with a prison wolf, and he's probably going to go back to pussy the minute he gets out. So, tell me, Blue eyes. Why him?"

He didn't want to be here anymore. Didn't want to be questioned. Plead with. To be the object of frustrated desires, to be anyone. To be noticed.

"Because," he said, voice a whisper. "Because he fits."

"I should fit you better."

"That's not how life works."

"Yeah. Well, life fucking sucks."

Michael couldn't bring himself to disagree.

* * *

"How's Ricky?" Alex asked when Michael got to the cell.

"Confused and fucked up." He crawled onto Alex's bunk. Snuggled against him. "I love you."

Alex rolled onto his side. Kissed Michael's forehead. "I love you, too. Did something happen?"

"No. Ricky was just asking why I was with you. You and not him, I mean."

"What did you say?" He rubbed Michael's back, curious despite himself. Because Ricky was younger and better looking. Because Alex was over fifty and feeling it. Because Michael was so incredibly beautiful and deserved to be with someone who reflected that beauty.

Michael tilted up his chin. "We fit. So perfectly. And I can't imagine loving anyone else."

Alex leaned closer. Kissed him. Lightly sucked on Michael's upper lip. Tongued along the bow of it. Broke apart. Kissed the full lower lip. Covered Michael's mouth. Stroked his tongue.

Michael kissed him back. His hands framed Alex's face. Thumb stroked over his cheekbone. Very studied. Very concentrated. Focused.

He pulled back. "What is it?" He pushed a lock of hair from Michael's forehead.

"Nothing. I don't know." He traced Alex's lips with the pads of his fingers. "I had it pretty good, you know? Growing up. Because Lincoln could be irresponsible and flakey and push me around when he thought I was going to do something stupid, but I never had to live in fear of him. Never had to wonder what he was going to do. Never had to be afraid of him and convince myself he wasn't." He sucked on his lower lip, then said, "There was a lot of bad growing up. But not from family."

Alex kissed him. "Lincoln's a good man."

"He is." Michael kissed him again, mouth open, tongue soft. "He'll be good to Pam. To Cameron."

"I know. And Pam will be good for LJ."

Michael grinned. "LJ?"

"You're not worried about Lincoln, are you? Because I'm sure she'll be fine for him, too. It's just..."

"No, you're right. I am more concerned about LJ." He sighed. "Sometimes I think I used up my concern over Lincoln."

"Nonsense."

"I know." He moved closer. Wrapped his arms around Alex. "I wish I could let you know how much I love you."

"I already do," he said, resting his chin on Michael's head. "I know. You don't need to show me in any other way."

"No, I... I just... Sometimes I wish I could crawl inside you and stay."

"Hide?"

He shook his head. "Just stay. Here." He pressed his hand over Alex's heart.

Alex caught it in his. Lifted it to his mouth to kiss before lowering it again. Pressing it against his chest. "You are, Michael." He kissed Michael, trying to put all that he was in the kiss. "You are."

* * *

Lights out. And then some. Any chatter or grumbling had long faded away, leaving only soft breathing sounds and the occasional snore.

Next to him, Alex was sound asleep. Eyes closed, the lines of his face softened. His mouth was open slightly, warm, minty breath brushing Michael's cheek. He had one hand on Michael's side, beneath his shirt, warm and comforting.

Michael reached out and ran his fingers through Alex's hair. Over his eyebrows. The shell of his ear. Down his jaw.

Ricky was wrong. He and Michael never would have fit together. Never should have. That wasn't the way the world worked. There wasn't an equation of looks plus intellect plus age plus life experience that dictated these things. It was something else. Chemistry and attraction and just... something.

There'd always been that something between Michael and Alex. For him, it could be traced back to the elevator. Opening the panel and finding Alex staring up at him. Curious and amused and...

So fucking sexy.

It didn't matter that Alex was older. He was good at math, he had it figured out. He knew how old Alex was now, and how old he would be when they got out and their lives finally began. And he didn't care. All he wanted was to spend the rest of his life with Alex. Nothing else mattered.

He moved closer to Alex. Pressed their lips together.

It took a few moments for Alex to respond. For his lips to move, to open, hands coming round Michael's body.

"Hey," he said sleepily. He opened his eyes, blinking at Michael. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Michael tugged Alex's shirt upwards. "Yeah, I am."

Crease between his eyes, Alex allowed Michael to strip him of his shirt. He lay back as Michael climbed on top.

Michael licked his lips. Pressed them to Alex's.

Alex's mouth opened. Coaxed Michael's tongue out. His hands slid underneath Michael's shirt, stroking. Caressing.

He moved slightly. Pulled off his shirt and threw it on the floor. Lowered himself to Alex, skin to skin.

Alex's skin was salty. Tangy. Michael could taste the cheap soap they bought from the commissary. A sort of dull, clay taste underneath. Something sharp in that spot underneath his earlobe that caused Alex's breath to catch. Hands tighten on Michael's shoulders.

He laved at that spot, soft and sensitive. Teased it with the tip of his tongue. Tugged on Alex's earlobe until Alex was panting, head pressed against the pillows, neck bared. Welcoming. Inviting.

Michael kissed down the column. Licked the indent where Alex's collar bones met. Skimmed his teeth over Alex's Adam's apple. Mouthed all the way along to the other ear, which received similar treatment with tongue, lips, and teeth.

Alex's hands wouldn't stop moving. Skimmed up Michael's backbone. Down his sides. Up his arms. Fingertips traced patterns into his skin, following lines that were forever etched into Michael's skin, forever a part of who he was. They skimmed over the scars Michael still felt too keenly, danced over them, then to the small of Michael's back. Pressed down. Urged him to move, to dance, to relieve the pressure.

He shifted. Moved downward, not ready for that. Needing more, needing Alex. Wanting to show him... show him everything.

Darkness permeated their cell. The only light was faint, bluish, far down the row. Barely illuminating anything.

But Michael knew. Knew the scar above Alex's heart. The deeper on in his arm. Learned the taste of the tightly pearled nipples. The lightly furred chest as Michael worked his way down. He remembered the freckle over his hipbone. The sharp curve of it, still too thin. Ribs stood out, not as much as before, but still then, and Michael nipped along them until Alex writhed beneath him.

Moved to his navel and licked along the rim. Got a knee to the back of his head for that, and then Alex was up, sorrys tumbling from his mouth as he pulled Michael to him and kissed and kissed and kissed until he was dizzy and distracted, hot and sweating from every pore.

"Ticklish," he panted when Alex finally broke away.

He laughed. "A bit, yeah. Sorry."

Michael kissed it away. Kissed and kissed and pushed Alex back. Slid down his body again. Impishly kissed the too-sensitive navel before traveling further down. Down the line of hair. Over cloth and hardness that pressed up, up against him. Opened his mouth and sucked through fabric, drawing a hoarse cry from Alex, quickly bitten off.

He tugged on Alex's bottoms. Slipped them over slim hips, down strong thighs. Down and off and onto the floor and pressed his face into Alex's crotch. Breathed deep, smelling the musk and spice and cheap soap again.

"Oh fuck," Alex breathed. He bit his knuckle, whined when Michael wrapped his hand around his straining cock.

He laid his head on Alex's thigh. Stroked up lightly, barely closing his hand, twisting as he went. Back down and up again. Watched his hand in the dim blue light, barely making it out. Flesh on flesh, one darker than the other. Wetness at the tip, which he ran his thumb over. Led with the thumb down, pressing against the throbbing vein beneath. With his free hand, he reached over Alex's right shoulder. Found the tear in the mattress, the still full tube of lubricant beneath. Pulled it out and popped open the cap.

"What..."

He released Alex. Squeezed a drop of lube on his palm and spread it. Took Alex in hand again, this time closing his hand all the way. Stroked again.

A sharp inhale. Hands threaded through his hair. Squeezed.

He stroked. Twisted. Brought his other hand around to traced Alex's balls, massage into the sack.

Alex whimpered. Pet Michael's neck, his hair. Cheek. Soft, soothing caresses that sent sparks skittering over Michael's skin.

Michael shifted. Bent between Alex's legs. Took him in his mouth. Sucked on the head before pulling back. Licked once. Twice. Down. His fingers played over Alex's perineum. Up his length. Sucked lower. Pressed his tongue, tasting bitter precome and clay flesh and smelling Alex and soap and...

"Oh God, Michael," Alex suddenly gasped. His hands tightened in Michael's hair, pushing.

He pulled away and pressed into Alex's perineum harder.

Alex shuddered. Bit down on his lower lip, a high whine escaping his throat as he came. Come hit Michael's cheek. He closed his eyes, felt another strand splash across his forehead. Stick his eyelashes together.

He wiped his eyes. Opened.

"That was..." Alex whispered. He took Michael by the arms and pulled him down.

Michael resisted. "I don't want... I don't want you to do anything to me," he said.

Alex frowned. "Are you sure?"

"I'm not ready." He laid down next to Alex and snuggled next to him. "I just really wanted you. I woke up and you were there and so beautiful, and I just wanted you."

"Thank you," he said. He kissed Michael tenderly, wiping Michael's sticky cheeks as he did. "It was wonderful. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Michael kissed him. When he pulled back, he said, "Will you... come to with me to the studio tomorrow? I'd like you to be there."

Alex was silent a moment. Stroking Michael's skin. Blotting drops of sweat with his fingers. "Are you going to draw me?"

"I'm not sure yet. I just want you there."

"All right. I'll go."


	24. Chapter 24

Alex was whistling. As they walked through the cell block to breakfast, he was whistling softly.

Following Alex, Michael smiled to himself. Alex had been in a fantastic mood all day. Whistling and humming to himself. Not to mention the huge grin. And all due to Michael.

He may not have gotten off last night, but that didn't stop the afterglow. Having Alex so happy and carefree was wonderful. Prison was... hard. Heavy and oppressive. Which, of course, it would have to be, since it was set up to punish people. Still. It was human nature to find happiness wherever you could, and, for now, Michael had given a bit of happiness to the man he loved. And, thus, taken some himself.

That was what so many people didn't understand. Making others happy, giving them things without asking for anything in return, it wasn't some unselfish act. If he didn't get something out of it, he wouldn't do it. But he did. It made him happy to make others happy. Gave him a sense of accomplishment. A sense of pride. It gave him joy.

And, yes, a little smug knowing that he was the one who made Alex beam and glow and whistle. And he didn't care if everyone knew, either.  
"Pancakes," Alex practically crowed when they joined the line. "Nothing like pancakes for breakfast, is there?"

Michael couldn't help but smile back. "No, there isn't."

Alex leaned in, his lips practically brushing Michael's ear. "The perfect morning after food, don't you think? Sweet, sticky, sugary. All the good things in life."

His face grew hot. "Um, yeah."

He got a happy, twinkle-eyed grin from Alex. Pancakes--definitely not all that appetizing, being little more than Bisquick heated on a griddle and left out long enough to be served lukewarm--but there was syrup to drizzle over it. And bacon. Lots and lots of crispy, greasy, bad-for-you-but-oh-so-good bacon.

"I'm cutting out of the line now," Alex whisper. "If I have to have another forkful of cottage cheese, I will explode."

"Oh, fine, leave me."

Alex stuck his tongue out at him and slipped away into the breakfast crowd.

Michael moved down the line. When he got to the special diet section of the buffet line, he pushed his plate forward and said, "Can I get an extra side of cottage cheese? Alex forgot to get his dish."

The con working flashed him a smile. "Want me to add anything into it Blueprints, or you gonna pick through it?"

"God, no. I have to eat enough of this stuff as it is. But... what doesn't go with cottage cheese?"

He wrinkled his nose. "Uh... bacon grease?"

Michael laughed. "Yeah, I don't want to kill him. But thanks."

"No problem." He placed the two small bowls on Michael's tray.

"Where the fuck you think you're going, asshole?" someone shouted behind Michael.

"Trying to get past your fat ass, punk."

"Who you calling punk, faggot?"

"Who you calling faggot, fudge packer?"

Michael turned, clenching his tray tightly in his hands. Two men were standing in each others faced, screaming. One had his hand in his pocket, obviously going for a weapon. The other had a knife in his hand, which he brandished menacingly.

"Break it up, cons," a guard, Simms, said. He approached, pulling his baton out. Another guard, Ralston, came up from the opposite direction.

One of the cons shoved the other. He stumbled back. Fell into the Simms.

Michael's heart leapt into his throat. "Look out!" he tried to call, but nothing came out.

The con wrested the baton from the Simms's hand. Swung it. The con he'd been arguing with ducked. The baton smashed into Ralston's head.

Ralston dropped. Blood gushed from his ear, the drum obviously perforated.

And just like that, everyone was up. Throwing food, throwing trays. Shouting. Fighting. And Michael just stood there, unable to let go of his tray. To move.

Someone bumped into him. He stumbled. The tray fell. He smacked into the con, still struggling with the guard.

"Move!" He backhanded Michael across the face.

Michael fell. Blinked. Looked up just as the con stabbed Simms through the right side of his neck.

"Shit." Without thinking, Michael got to his hands and knees. Crawled to the guard, now lying on the floor, bleeding. "It's okay," he gasped. He pressed his hand to the wound. Blood continued to gush around it, wetting his hand.

Simms coughed. Blinked. "Don't," he mouthed. "Go."

"I'm not going. I..." He cried out as a foot connected with his side. Fell, someone on top of him.

The next few minutes were nothing but a blur of fists and teeth and legs and pain. Somehow Michael forced his attacker away. Fought his way back to Simms. Grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him away. To the serving station. Behind. Safe.

"Michael, don't," Simms moaned. "Go."

"Where?" Michael pulled his shirt off. Wadded it and pressed it against Simms's wound. "Everything's in chaos. I'm not a fighter." He pulled Simms's walkie-talkie off his arm. Pressed the button. "This Michael Scofield. I'm in the mess hall. There's a riot and I've got a wounded officer. We need help immediately."  
There was hiss of static. Then a crackle. And, "This is the warden, Michael. We can't get medical personnel in there yet. How bad is it?"

Panic flared, but Michael swallowed it down. "I can't tell. Simms was stabbed close to his jugular. I've got pressure on it. But, uh. It's just..." He panted, dizy.

"Keep breathing, Michael. Are you safe?"

"For now. I'll see if I can get him into the kitchen. Lock the doors, you know? Or something."

"Do what you have to."

"Yeah." He dropped the walkie talkie. Pressed harder into Simms's neck. The shirt was practically soaked through, crimson red with blood. "You need to stop bleeding."

"I'll get to work on that." He closed his eyes.

Michael bit his lip. His arms ached. Heart was pounding. He could hear shouts and screams from the other side of the serving station. Guards pounded their way in. There was the sound of riot batons dully thudding against flesh. The sharp smell of fire and smoke. Tasers. Silverware and shanks and chairs and tables.

"Well, what do we have here but a pretty, pretty, pretty little boy?"

His head snapped up. McNab, bruised and blood splattered, was walking around the station towards him.

"Don't," Michael said.

He grinned. "Don't what, precious? Don't hurt you? Don't hide back here in the cushy little spot you've got? Don't taste what that sweet ass has been offering me since you got here?"

Michael was frozen. If he stayed, McNab would get him. If he ran, Simms would die. And McNab would probably get him anyway. Either way, Simms was dead and he was raped.

He should run. But he was frozen. Stuck, noticing... things. The blood on McNab's cheek. The cut underneath his jaw. The veins standing out over his bulging muscles. The flare of his nostrils. The juncture of his shoulder. The sharpness of the edge of the service station. The distance between them. Calculating. How much force was needed? Would the impact faze him long enough to reach the bacon tray? Was it still hot? Did it matter? Move. Move!

Michael lunged at McNab. Their bodies collide. Air knocked from his lungs. McNab fell back. Smacked his head on the sharp edge of the serving station. Blood stained it as his huge body fell. Michael pushed himself up, hands gripping the cold metal between blood soaked, sweaty palms. Grabbed the hot--too hot--pan filled with bacon and grease. Slammed it down on McNabs's head and flipped it over. The meat and grease hit McNabs's skin and the other man screamed. His back arched, eyes shut, agony in every pore.

He smashed the pan against McNab again. And again and again and again and again.

Someone grabbed him. Growling, he turned. Tried, ready to fight. Couldn't. Arms were pinned. He was pinned against a body. Trapped.

Michael screamed. Fought, tried to smash his head back.

"It's me," Alex said in his ear. "It's me, Michael, Ales, you're safe. You need to stop."

Michael smashed his foot down on McNab's face. Kicked him.

"Stop, Michael."

He shook his head. Adrenaline coursed through him, and he wanted to fight. Claw. "I can't..."

"McNab's down. You're safe, but we need to get somewhere. Out of her. And we've go to get Simms and Ralston somewhere safer to protect them."

"But..."

"Drop the pan."

He forced his fingers to unclench. The pan fell onto McNabs's limp body.

Alex kissed Michael's cheek. "Good. Let's go."

Michael went back to Simms. Ralston was lying next to him, unconscious and limp.

"Where should we go?" he asked. Simms had passed out. His wound was still bleeding, although not as much as before. The shank had definitely missed his jugular, then.

"Kitchen's back here. Follow me." Alex grabbed his guard's uniform and began dragging him towards the kitchen, squatting so he wasn't visible to the rioters on the other side.

Michael imitated his position. Together, they dragged their respective guards to the kitchen. Alex checked inside first to make sure there was no one inside. He nodded to Michael, then went inside.

"Where have you been?" Michael asked. He pressed against Simms's wound, which had reopened and was again gushing blood. "Give me your shirt."

Alex flashed him a suggestive grin, but did as Michael was told. "I was kind of caught in the middle of it all," he said. He finished unbuttoning his shirt and gave it to Michael. "One minute everything was fine, and the next it was mayhem. I was looking for you, but it was impossible to get across."

For the first time, Michael realized that Alex was bruised and bleeding. Just a little, at the corners of his mouth. But there were bruises all over and he held his arm over his stomach.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Michael." He knelt at Michael's side and kissed him. "I was so worried."

Michael leaned closer. Kissed Alex as fiercely as he could. "Me too."

They kissed one more time, then Alex moved to Ralston. There was a dark contusion on the side of his head where the baton had connected. His skull was slightly indented, hair and blood matting the surface. His ear had stopped bleeding, but still had a trail of blood that extended from his sear to his neck. His uniform was torn, there were bite marks, footprints, and stab wounds over his body.

"He was hit hard," Michael said. "I was right there. I tried to warn him, but I couldn't. I just..."

"This wasn't your fault. Michael, look at me."

Michael turned his head. Met Alex's eyes.

"This wasn't your fault. You couldn't have stopped it. They were planning this. It was all too well executed. And everyone else was just spoiling for a fight."

"I know, but..."

"Michael." Alex came back over. Framed his face with his hands and kissed him. "This wasn't your fault. Okay? I told you weeks ago that tensions were on the rise. That we were heading for a riot. Well, guess what, baby? That's what we got."

Michael leaned forward. Lightly nipped Alex's lower lip. "Watch your language," he said. Then, when his arms started trembling, he said, "Can you take over?"  
"Yeah." Alex put his hands over the bloody tee shirt.

"It's kind of cold in here," Michael said. "I'm going to turn on the oven. These guys are probably in shock, you know?"

"We're probably in shock. It's not a bad idea. Just be careful not to accidentally turn on a pilot or anything. They're setting fires out there."

Michael nodded. He went to the oven and turned it on. Then he went back to Ralston and carefully maneuvered him closer. Together, he and Alex moved Simms. A trip to the refrigerator yielded them bottles of water, bread, and cheese. Michael dug into the bread and cheese eagerly, having missed breakfast. It was obviously something a guard or a cook was keeping back for themselves, because there wasn't enough to feed a prison. It was, however, enough to feed two hungry prisoners.

"You know," Michael said after they were situated with their supplies, "there was a riot really soon after I got to Fox River. Everyone knew it was coming. A race riot. People had shanks and were choosing sides." He shuddered. "I got someone killed."

Alex's eyes flicked up to him. "What do you mean?"

"I needed this bolt to unscrew the toilet in my room. I found it on T-Bag's bench, and his... cellmate took it. They said I could only get it back if I swore allegiance to them, but whatever. Anyway, during the riot, I went into their cell. Tried to steal it, and Maytag jumped me. We fought and while we were fighting, this guy came and stabbed him." He shuddered again. His throat felt tight. "He died in my arms."

Alex kissed Michael's forehead. "It wasn't your fault."

There was a sudden loud popping sound from the mess hall. Shouts and screams.

Michael shivered. He stood and began to dig through the cabinets. There were boxes of crackers, a huge supply of pretzels, olives, and canned goods. He found a can of beef vegetable broth and pulled it out. "We should try and wake Simms. Feed him this to get his iron count up." He showed Alex the can.

"Couldn't hurt," Alex agreed. "Do we have anything to cook it in?"

"I'm looking." He'd never been in the kitchen before. He continued opening and closing cabinets full of various foods and supplies. In one, he found storage containers, baggies, foil, and plastic wrap. He threw the last to Alex. "Wrap that around his wound. Use it to hold the shirt against him. It'll be easier."

"Good idea."

They tore Alex's shirt in half, refolded it, and pressed it to Simms's wound. Then, they wrapped the plastic wrap from Simms's neck to his opposite arm.

Their makeshift bandage stayed in place.

"Come here." Alex sat next to the oven and pulled Michael to him.

Tired, pained, Michael leaned into Alex. Rested his head against Alex's shoulder. Breathed him in, one hand clenched in Alex's thin undershirt, the other wrapped around his waist.

Alex stroked his hair. Twisted tendrils around his fingers. "I was so worried. All I could think was getting to you. Making sure you were safe." He pressed his face into Michael's hair. "I should have known you could take care of yourself."

Michael snorted. "You think I killed him?"

"No, Michael. I don't think you killed him." His hand trailed down Michael's back. Caressed up and down his spine.

"The second riot was, you know," Michael said.

"Was what?"

"All my fault."

"The second riot only escalated due to incompetent COs," Alex corrected. "They never should have locked down the wing with cons out of their cells."

"I know, but..."

"You didn't intend to start a riot."

"I intended to get everyone riled up enough to warrant a lock down. Same thing."

"Not exactly."

More shouts. A few thuds. Smacks on flesh and cries of pain.

Michael shuddered and pressed harder into Alex. "I want to go home."

With a sigh, Alex put one arm around Michael. Kissed his temple, his cheek, his neck. "I know. But, for now, home is where we are. Together."

"Right." Michael blinked back the sudden tears in his eyes. His throat was tight. "Together we're home."


	25. Chapter 25

"Ever been involved in a riot before?" Alex asked, somewhere between lazily and just plain sleepy.

Simms shook his head. "Naw. Some fights and stuff that got a little out of hand, but nothing like this." He winced. "How long's it been?"

"Almost two hours," Michael said.

"What are you doing?" Simms pushed himself up and craned his neck, immediately wincing.

"Don't move," ordered Michael. He shifted his body and dragged his pen down over Alex's shoulder blade.

"Me or him?" Alex glanced over his shoulder.

Michael's eyes were dark. Focused. "Him. Don't want the bandage coming off. Saran wrap isn't tape."

"No kidding." Simms scratched at the plastic wrap. "Can't stop sweating. Can we turn the oven down?"

"Ralston is still unconscious, and Michael's only just stop shivering." He smiled bitterly. "Look as if we're going to have to suffer awhile longer."

"What are you drawing?" asked Simms.

Michael didn't answer. He just shifted his body over Alex's again and continued.

Alex sighed. Closed his eyes and pressed his head against his arms.

Two hours. They'd been contacted once by the warden, told it was going to be a bit longer and to hang in. Alex had wanted to scream on receiving that message. Ralston was probably dying. Simms hadn't yet woken up. And Michael had gone into some kind of emotional distress. For an hour and a half straight, he'd shaken in Alex's arms, teeth chattering. Nothing he'd done helped Michael relax. He'd been helpless to do anything but stroke Michael's hair, kiss his forehead, hold him tight.

Until he'd finally thought to offer himself up as a canvas.

They'd found a pen. Alex had stripped out of his undershirt, stretched out on the floor.

The shaking had stopped. The anxiety had been placed on the backburner. It wasn't a permanent fix, but it would get them through.

"You study art, Michael?" Simms asked.

"Sort of. In high school. Some in college. But it was a hobby, mostly. Until I threw my life away."

"You must really love your brother. I mean, he must be one hell of a guy for you to do all that you did."

The pen pressed into his back. Harder. Then harder and...

"Ow, shit! Michael, please." Alex rolled over. Grabbed Michael's wrists and pulled him down. "What's wrong?"

Michael's face was blank. "Nothing."

He looked into Michael's eyes. They were dark, unreadable. Stormy but withdrawn. He didn't want to talk, didn't want to be there. Alex could tell he'd just... retreated. Was hiding.

"What's wrong?" said Simms. "He okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine," Alex lied. He rolled back onto his stomach.

Seconds later, Michael's hands were smoothing over his back. This time, the pen was gentle and soothing again.

"I saw the movie they made about you. It was good. All that really happen?"

Michael didn't answer.

"We didn't get a chance to see it," Alex said. "We were kind of locked up at the time."

Simms snorted. "I guess that's true." He rubbed at the plastic wrap again. "I taped it. I could bring it in and show it in the rec room. Sure there are guys who'd like to see it, besides you. If you want to."

"I'm not completely uninterested," Alex admitted. "They didn't make me look like a total villain, did they?"

"Naw. Actually, I thought the dude who played you had the right chemistry with the kid playing Michael. Looked like they wanted to jump each other the whole time, which... well," he said, eyebrows raised. He nodded at them.

Alex fought back a blush. "What? You think something's going on between me and Michael?"

Simms laughed.

His radio crackled.

"Simms here," he said snatching it up.

"This is the warden. We've got the riot pretty much locked down and are sending a team into the kitchen. Alex and Michael need to lie down with their hands behind their heads."

"Yes sir." He looked up. "You heard him."

Michael climbed off of Alex. Tossed the pen away and stretched out on the floor. After pulling on his undershirt, Alex joined him. First, though, he kissed Michael's cheek.

"You going to be okay?" he asked.

"Yeah." Michael closed his eyes. "I just want out of here."

Alex kissed him again, then stretched out next to him. "Yeah. Me too."

A couple seconds later, the door was kicked open. SWAT rushed in, guns pointed, shouting. After securing the room, they hauled Michael and Alex to their feet. Cuffed them.

A couple of medics rushed into the room, carrying stretchers and medkits.

"Ralston hasn't woken up," Alex said. "His pulse is steady, though, and he's been breathing the whole time."

He was shoved from behind. "Shut it, con!"

"Hey!" Simms snapped. "These men saved our lives. Show some respect."

"Warden wants to see them. Lets go."

Alex and Michael were herded out of the kitchen and out into the hall. The air was heavy with smoke and the faint tang of tear gas. SWAT and prison guards were out in full force, picking up the weapons, pushing cons towards the cells. They were pushed in the opposite direction, towards the administrative and medical portion of the prison.

He only hoped they would be allowed to receive medical attention soon. Michael had been roughed over, Alex himself was sore and hurt. And Michael was shivering again.

The warden was in what looked like a central control room. There were monitors showing every inch of the prison. Alex glanced at them. Most of the cons were again behind bars, except for those in the infirmary. There were a few fires in the wings and bathrooms, but it all looked fairly contained.  
"Alex. Michael," the warden said. He turned. Frowned. "Please uncuff these gentlemen."

The SWAT obeyed; the cuffs came off. As Alex rubbed his wrists, he noticed the warden giving him a once over.

His lips curled into an amused smile and he nodded at Alex's arm. "Looks good."

Alex's cheeks warmed. "It's, ah. Art."

The warden's smile widened. "Of course. Art. How far did you get, Michael? Is it finished?"

"No."

"Too bad. It's probably be quite impressive. I'd almost like to see it. However, now's not the time." He sad back against a console. "The riot has been contained. Everyone's accounted for and in their cells or infirmary."

"Did anyone die?" Michael asked.

Alex shook his head at the warden, hoping the other man wouldn't respond. Or would lie. Michael really didn't need to know.

"That information isn't available," the warden said smoothly. "I know you both need medical attention, so I'll make this brief. I wanted to thank you for your actions during this riot. You saved the lives of two of my men. You didn't have to do that. No one else in this place would have. I think..." He bit off his sentence. Hesitated, then said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir," Alex said.

Michael didn't answer. When Alex looked at him, he forced a smile and nodded at the warden. His chin was shaking and he was trembling violently.

"Warden," Alex said, pleading. He put his arms around Michael, held him. Tried to control the shudders.

The warden shrugged out of his coat and draped it over Michael's shoulders. "Let's take him to the infirmary. I didn't realize he was so badly injured, I would have sent him there immediately."

"Not. Injured," Michael said. He allowed the warden and Alex to lead him out of the control room.

"I think it's anxiety," Alex told the warden. "I got him to calm down, but it was a temporary fix."

"Sorry."

"Don't be," he soothed. He rubbed Michael's arm and kissed his cheek. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I saw it. The whole thing," Michael said. "I saw Ralston get hit. Simms get stabbed. I should have... I should have stopped it."

"I'm sure there was nothing you could have done," said the warden. "In fact, I know there wasn't. You don't get involved in fights between inmates. And you especially don't stand up for a guard, Michael."

"But he could still die. Or be in a coma."

"And it would have been worse had you gotten involved. You know how inmates react when they think another con is kissing up to the guards. Trying for special favors. They would have killed you, Michael. And made sure the job was done."

What the warden wasn't saying, what Alex knew, was that there still might be repercussions. Most people participated during a riot. Although the chances of escape were slim, it was still a chance to act out on the pent up rage that built up over the months. Of course, there were those who found places to hide out, keep safe. Little holes in the walls. Forgotten closets. Under beds. Even going to the guards and asking to be taken to protective segregation. But hiding out, protecting guards, saving their lives? That was unheard of, at least as far as Alex knew.

"It's never enough," Michael whispered. He pulled the warden's jacket tighter around him.

"You're here to serve time, Michael. Not be a hero. Think of it as... an extended vacation from heroism," said the warden.

Michael smiled and gave an embarrassed sort of laugh. "No offense, boss, but I wouldn't mind a leave from this vacation."

"I'm sure you would. Ah, doctor!" he called as they rounded the corner. "Another patient."

Parsons was looking frazzled. He'd just come out of a room, making notes on a chart. His hair was rumpled and wild, coat blood stained, and one shoe was untied. When he saw Michael, he stopped short. "How bad is he injured?"

"Not very," Alex said. "We checked over each other's injuries awhile ago. Just bumps and bruises. But he won't stop shaking."

Parsons came over. Pulled a flashlight from his pocket and shone it in Michael's eyes. When he was done, he took Michael by the wrist and felt his pulse. "Fast," he said. "I'll send a nurse in for his blood pressure. You probably need a sedative, Michael. You're too stressed."

Michael nodded.

"Room five is empty. You can put them there." And with that, he was gone.

The warden put them into the room and closed the door on them. Immediately, Alex pulled Michael onto the narrow bed. Found a blanket and threw it over them. He spooned behind Michael and held him close.

"What's going through your mind?" Alex asked. He slipped his hand under Michael's shirt and stroked his stomach.

Michael side. "I don't know. I can't... I wish I wasn't reacting like this. It's over. We're safe, both of us. And yet..."

"I think a lot of your reaction is based on what happened at Fox River. You've probably never dealt with it. Whatever fear you felt. Guilt. While there was nothing you could have done to stop this riot, you inadvertently set events in motion that started the last. Because of all that went on back then, you never had a chance to really deal with it. Then, it sort of went away Bt here it is again. Not your fault, but traumatic nonetheless."

"That makes sense. I just really wish..." He bit off whatever he was going to say.

Alex sighed. He shifted so he could rest his face against Michael's. "You're really homesick, aren't you?"

Michael nodded. "I want to be somewhere not here. And the worst thing is, I was sort of getting used to it. Relaxing. Feeling like I just might survive. And now, I don't know."

The door open and a nurse came in. He took Michael's blood pressure and temperature. Took his pulse. Then he gave him a couple of pills to swallow before moving on to Alex. He had one cut that needed to be bandaged, and a bleeding puncture on his back that the nurse cleaned out. Then he told them both to get some rest before leaving again.

"That was fast."

"They probably have more important injuries to deal with." Alex pulled Michael down to the bed again and against him. "You're going to survive, you know. You think I'm going to let you not?"

"No."

"You think something's going to happen to me?"

Michel's eyes squeezed shut tightly. "I hope not."

"We'll be okay, then. We'll survive this."

"Ten years. If I'm lucky," Michael whispered. "I can't."

He turned Michael to him. Kissed him, stroking his cheek. "You can. Right now, you're scared, upset, stressed. Worked up. Of course things seem hopeless. But you can survive this. Things will go back to the way it was. It's life. Life seems normal, and then, bam. Everything goes to hell. But, after some fuss and time and uncomfortable moments, it goes back."

Michael pulled Alex down to him. Kissed him, tongue curling around Alex's own, stroking so soft. Gentle. "If we had time," he whispered, "and were alone. And not in the infirmary where anyone could see, we'd be making love. Because, God, I need you right now. Need to feel you."

"We could barricade the door."

"Let me rephrase," Michael laughed. "If we were everything I just said, and if I weren't about to pass out from the horse tranquilizers they just gave me, we'd be making love. But, hey, if you don't mind all that...

It was Alex's turn to laugh. He kissed Michael's forehead. His lips. Pulled him close. "Sleep. I'll still be here when you wake up."

"I know." Michael snuggled against him, eyelids heavily falling shut. "You always will be."

"You're right. I always will."

* * *

Michael opened his eyes and was greeted to the view of a dark blue blur. He blinked. Pulled back. The blur reformed itself into a set of broke scales held up feebly by a weeping Lady Justice.

Alex.

Yawning and stretching, Michael pressed a kiss between Alex's shoulder blades.

 

"You awake?" Alex asked, voice thick and heavy.

"Yeah. Why? Have I been kissing you in my sleep?"

Alex rolled over to face him. "Drooling on me. But that's nothing new." He kissed Michael, mouth warm, tongue soft. "How do you feel?"

"Better. God, I was such a freak earlier."

"Yesterday."

"Really?"

He nodded. "They brought us here yesterday evening. I guess you don't remember."

"Not so much." He stretched and rubbed his eyes. "Most of yesterday is kind of a blur." He opened his eyes again and looked around.

They were in a plain room. The walls were concrete gray, and there were four of them, instead of three and a wall of bars. There was a dresser pushed against the far corner, a throw rug on the floor, and a couple of pictures on the wall. Instead of a bunk bed, they were sleeping in two cots pushed together. As thin as the mattresses were, the space was a definite luxury.

"Where are we?" Michael asked. He dragged his fingers over the side of Alex's face and down his neck.

"Protective custody. Except all the cells are occupied right now, conjugal visits are all suspended for now and we're in one of the rooms."

He grinned. "We're in a conjugal room?"

"It's still heavily fortified and just a few steps from protective custody. Still a cell."

His arms slid around Alex and he slipped his thigh between Alex's leg. "Yeah. But it's a *conjugal* room. For, you know." He smiled lasciviously.

Alex laughed and kissed his nose. "Yes, I know. The guards who brought us down here had a field day with it. And I think that only one of them knew about us." This time, he kissed Michael's eyes, first his right, then his left. "We're not the only ones here. Randall got trampled during the riot, broke his leg. They don't have room for him in the infirmary, so they moved him next door. O'Connell's with him. He's got something like three broken fingers."

"How do you know all this?"

"It's after one, Michael. We're not on lockdown here, and I went out for lunch and saw them."

Michael pushed himself up. "I slept through lunch?"

"And breakfast. Actually, I'm supposed to feed you when you wake up, then call the guards so they can get a better meal." Alex got out of bed and crossed the room to the dresser. When he returned, he had a bag containing a plastic wrapped sandwich, a bag of mini carrots, and a warm fruit juice.

"I never want to see plastic wrap again," Michael said, shuddering as he unwrapped the sandwich. He opened and took off the pickles and pathetically dry and vaguely orange tomato before taking the first bite. "Remember the first time, when we were trying to wrap it around Simms's shoulder and we accidentally reopened the cut? And all the blood got trapped underneath?" He shuddered again and shoved the tomato away from him.

Alex dropped the tomato into the bag, then fixed the other half of the sandwich for Michael. "I do. But I'm trying not to think to much about it. Neither should you."

"Easier said than done." He took another bite. "Wait. So I've been asleep for almost twenty-four hours, and you haven't taken a shower?"

His cheeks turned a dull red. "The pen you used was permanent marker. It'll take awhile for it to come off, or so I discovered."

"Oh. Sorry. I didn't realize."

"I don't mind. I actually kind of like you drawing on me." He flashed Michael a smile. "The guys kind of gave me crap for it, but it's fine."

"It's not done. I could finish it, if you like."

Alex leaned in and kissed him. "I think I'd like that. I like being the focus of your attention. And to know that you're drawing something on me that you find meaningful. I mean, symbolically. About me." Cheeks red, he quickly kissed Michael again. Then he pulled back. "Eat."

"Yes, sir." He tore another bite off the tasteless sandwich. "So Randall and O'Connell are here. What about Sammy and Jacks?"

"No way. Drugs aren't as easy to get here, so Sammy wouldn't come. Jacks has gang affiliation. Even if he wanted to come here, he'd have to sign a statement saying he was leaving the gang and have a hearing and all that. Besides, he was out there in the thick of it."

"What about Sammy? Was he fighting?"

Alex sighed and shrugged. "I don't know where he was during the riot. My gut is, he found a hole and hid. I just hope he has a good stash in his cell, or he'll be really unhappy."

"How long's the lockdown?"

"Five days, more if there's trouble. Partial lockdown after tomorrow. They get out to shower and for an hour of recreation. In small shifts. No classes, no group meals, no time to wander around the block or the yard."

Michael nodded. Finished the first half of his sandwich. "What about us?"

"We're on easy street. There's a plush common room down the end of the hall. Big TV, DVD/VCR combo, pool table, games. Even a window. We have free time from ten until noon. Then we have lunch, some time in the cell, and then they take us out to the yard. Except I think we're sleeping through that today."

"Sorry."

"No worries. We'll just replace yard time with infirmary time."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Fantastic. Just what I want. Yay." He grabbed a carrot and bit. "This is disgusting."

"Be a good boy and eat your vegetables."

He obeyed.

Alex crossed his legs in front of his body. Place on hand on Michael's thigh and lightly drummed his fingers on it. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah."

"Yesterday, when Simms mentioned your brother, you got really, well. Tense."

Dammit. The man had a memory like an elephant. "It was nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't want to talk about Lincoln."

"Why not? You've never not wanted to before. Are you angry at him?"

"No." He grabbed the other half of sandwich and took a huge bite. His mouth was dry and it crumbled flatly on his tongue.

"Michael."

He grabbed the bag and spat the sandwich into it. "My brother doesn't... share. A lot. Talk about. Stuff. I mean, he's not, you know. Articulate."

Alex coughed into his hand, but Michael saw the smile anyway.

He groaned, clenching his fists. "I know. I know. I just mean that. I know he loves me. I know he cares. And that he's thankful. I just..." He stopped and clenched his jaw, but it didn't help. His body went out of control and suddenly he was shuddering again, just as hard as he had been yesterday. And it hurt and it was terrifying and why wouldn't it just *stop*?

"Breath," Alex ordered. He pushed Michael's lunch away. Lay him down and pulled the covers over them. "Breath, Michael."

"I don't belong here," Michael whispered. "I don't belong here. I'm going to die here, and I don't want to."

"You're not going to die."

"Are you stupid? Of *course* I am. I've been here, what? Six months now? And in that time, I've been almost killed twice. First by Nicky, and then yesterday in a riot. Let's say that continues. Two brushes with death in every six month period. That's four times a year. Ten years. Forty chances at death. One of them is going to stick. One of them is going to get me, and that's all it takes, Alex. One time. And that's not including every time I'm going to be injured. That I'll be stabbed or strangled or beaten. Made weaker and more frail and more vulnerable to attack until, suddenly, bam. I'm dead. It's too late."

Alex looked... sad. Tired. He reached out and traced Michael's ear with his fingertips, over and over and over again. "You planning on making me a widower before we even tie the knot, babe?"

"I'm scared. Okay? Is that what you want me to say?"

"Yes. Because that's all this is, Michael. Fear. Well deserved fear, but fear nonetheless." He rubbed his thumb over Michael's jaw. "You think I don't think the same thing? When I spent my first few months practically living in the infirmary? When every con in this place was out of get me because of what I am? Because I was cellmates with the block punk and I refused to let anyone get close to him. I still think that, Michael. Every day, I wonder if maybe this will be the one where someone gets me. But I can't live like that, so I have to make myself forget it. And find ways to get through the day and night." He kissed Michael. "Right now, and for the first time, I find myself actually thinking about life on the outside again. A life with you on the outside."

Michael blinked back tears. "I can't. It makes me too sad. Thinking about us then. About LJ now, growing up. Without me, and me being in here and it's so hard and I just want to go *home*."

"Michael, have you always felt like this? This desperate and sad, or did it all come up because of the riot? Because you haven't seemed... I like to think I know you better than this, and if I missed it, I'm so sorry."

His first impulse was to scream that, yes, he always felt like this, every minute of every day and just wanted OUT.

But he didn't. He forced himself to bite his tongue. Because he'd been in therapy now for most of his life and he knew that he still struggled with this issue. Seeing everything in black or white, all or nothing. Taking the feeling of the moment and applying it back over everything.

The only way he'd ever learned to cope with it effectively was by doing something. When he'd first started making real money working as a structural engineer, the only thing he'd been able to see was all those who had to go without. He'd felt so guilty. Never mind he'd once been one of them. Never mind he worked hard to earn all that he'd been given. It didn't matter. All he saw was a world of pain and he was riding on easy street. He'd finally begun to do all the charity work he could, and found himself soothed by the activity. Not necessarily because he was helping, but because he was doing *something* that wasn't work. Something that took his mind off it.

When he'd cracked while trying to get Lincoln out of the country, confession had been a temporary fix. A way to get all his sins out and remind himself of the work still to be done.

When he'd gotten to Panama, gotten Lincoln out and safe, getting T-Bag had been a distraction from the crushing guilt of all he'd done.

And then...

Now he was here. And while prison was the best way to ease the pain of all he'd done, it brought a new pain of its own. And yet...

"I guess not," he admitted. "I mean, yeah, I'm scared. But now, I'm fucking terrified. More than usual. I just... I don't like feeling like this."

"Me neither." Alex pulled him close. Kissed him on the forehead and rubbed his back. "We could stay here. Should stay here. It's not home, but it's not as dangerous here."

"In a conjugal room?"

"Isn't every room we're in eventually going to be a conjugal room?"

Michael felt his cheeks warm. "Well, uh. I guess. Sorta. But you know what I mean."

"Right. And I meant in protective segregation. I'm sure the warden would approve the transfer right away, especially since he's suggested it for you before."

Michael bit his lower lip. Chewed on it. "I thought that once you were in protective segregation, you couldn't go to. You know. Classes and stuff." He'd never thought he'd actually want to go to classes, especially now that he was in Spanish, rather than art (even though he still got to go to the studio three times a week), but it was a way to break up the monotony. He didn't look forward to losing something that did that.

"No. The warden's got things set up so protective seg cons get to have the same basic privileges as the rest. He doesn't think that people who are having a hard time in prison and want to do their time without getting into problems should be punished. He's actually trying to get a separate wing built for guys with shorter sentences, or who just want to keep their head down and noses clean. They have them in some prisons, but not this one, yet. But we should still get classes in protective segregation." He rubbed Michael's head. "It'd be better for us."

"Better for you. No more Ricky to worry about."

"You'll miss Ricky that much?"

He frowned. "No. I just mean... I don't know what I mean. I'm just stupid."

Alex kissed him on top of the head. "No. Not stupid."

"You're just so... adamant about hating Ricky. I mean, I don't trust him necessarily, but you make it so personal." Michael ran his fingers over Alex's lips. "It's like you're actually afraid I'd leave you for him."

Alex dropped his eyes. Retreated slightly in the circle of Michael's arms. "It's not such a crazy idea. If he really is just after you because he's attracted, and he's not going to hurt you or whatever, the idea that you'd leave me for him isn't so unbelievable. He's young and handsome. Intelligent."

"So are you. You're the smartest man I've ever met. And the sexiest."

"I'm not young. When we get out of here, I'll be in my sixties. Which would be fine, except you'll only be forty. In the prime of your life, and able to live it for the first time. I'll be... on my way to being truly old. Senior citizen discounts and moving to Florida. Sitting on the porch and watching people walk by and going to dinner at four to get the early bird special."

He couldn't help but laugh. "Do you really think that? Because, I gotta tell you, it doesn't sound like you."

"Who knows who I'll be in ten years?"

"I imagine you'll be the same man, only older." He rubbed Alex's neck. "You think I've never figured out our ages when we get out? And do you really think it matters?"

"It might matter when we get there."

"How can it? I love you. You're the only person I've ever felt like this for. I mean, I've loved, don't get me wrong. But it's different with you. And I know that no matter what happens, I want to spend the rest of my life with you." He moved closer to Alex, wishing he could just merge with him, skin melting into each others. He brought their mouths together. Moved his lips softly, intently. Tongue stroking at the crease between Alex's lips, coaxing, asking, teasing.

Alex's mouth parted. His tongue drew Michael's in. Caressed and pushed and danced with Michael's. His thumb stroked Michael's cheek up to his ear, where he traced along the shell before returning along the path. He allowed Michael to roll on top of him. Kiss down his neck. Suck lightly on his neck until a bluish-purple mark was raised.

A slow heat rose in Michael. Made his body heavy. Languorous. He pressed down against Alex, cock half-hard.

Alex pulled his mouth away. "I'm tired, Michael. And on pain killers. I'm sorry."

"No." Michael kissed his chin. Nose. Mouth. "Don't be sorry." He kissed Alex again. "Got any of those pain killers? Everything hurts."

"They've got some in the infirmary. I'm sure they'd love to see you in there. And you could get a decent meal, instead of the sack of crap."

"Oh, so you admit it sucks."

He smiled. "The sack meal sucks, Michael. Not every single thing they serve us. Of course, you're so finicky, you'd never know the difference."

Michael rolled his eyes and sat up. "I don't like being called finicky. That's for cats." He climbed out of bed. His legs felt like they were made of noodles. Led noodles. His back was one big bruise. His head had a twenty pound weight on top of it, and both arms ached.

"Cats?"

He found a pair of his pants in the dresser. Carefully, he stepped out of his pajama bottoms and pulled them on. "When I was a kid, there was a commercial for cat food. The cat was a finicky eater, and I just assumed it was something that applied only to cats, you know?" He grabbed a shirt. "How did I get into my pajamas?"

Alex was out of bed now, too, and putting on his clothes. "You were awake when we came down. Out of it and drugged and all that, but conscious. They put you in scrubs while we were in the infirmary--both of us. When we got in here, you insisted on your pajamas. Wouldn't shut up until they brought our clothes down so you could have your pajamas. Which, as you know, are state issued, so I don't know why you wanted them so much."

"I don't remember. Are they usually this accommodating?" The buttons were giving him trouble. His fingers just didn't want to work.

"They are when you save the lives of their coworkers," Alex replied. He came over and buttoned Michael's shirt. "You have officially stopped being they guy who broke out of Fox River that guards feel a little sorry for and become the guy who saved one of our own during the riot. A hero."

Michael sighed. "I don't want to be a hero."

"Ah, buck up, baby. It won't be that bad. It got you your pajamas, after all." He grinned.

"Yeah." He couldn't help but return the smile. "I guess it won't be all bad." He leaned in and kissed Alex. "All right. Let's go get me some drugs."


	26. Chapter 26

"I'm fine, Lincoln," Michael said into the phone. He tapped his fingers against the desk in front of him. "I got through the riot fine. Alex and I are okay."

"You rescued a CO? What were you thinking?" Lincoln demanded.

"I was thinking I wasn't going to let anyone die. Not if I could help it. Especially not anyone innocent."

"No one's innocent. You shouldn't have stuck your neck out. God. Do you have any idea what's going to happen to you now?"

Michael sighed. The tapping became rubbing. "Doesn't matter. Alex and I are in protective segregation now. Safe. Warder expedited the paperwork. If we ever do go back to Gen pop. no one's even going to remember."

Lincoln snorted. "Oh, protective segregation. With the rape victims and the snitches. Just fucking great."

Michael hung up. Rose and stood. "All yours," he said to Alex, who was standing behind him waiting for the phone.

"That didn't sound like the end of a conversation. What happened?"

"What happened is my brother's an asshole. All yours." He tried to walk away, but Alex grabbed him by the collar. Pulled him back.

"Alex!"

Not listening, he shoved his commissary card through the slot and dialed. "Hi, Pam, it's me. Look, I...." He cut off whatever he was saying. Grinned wolfishly. "You know I love you, baby, right?" He laughed. Then he handed the phone to Michael. "Talk."

He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Jesus Christ." Alex pressed the phone up to Michael's ear.

He didn't say anything.

Silence on the other line. Breathing.

"Say something, you Goddamn asshole!" Michael heard Pam say.

A sigh. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said... Implied what I did."

Michael tightened his jaw.

"It's safe for you... where you are. And I want you to be safe. And happy."

Another sigh. This one deep. "I know you've been through a lot. And that you're a good man. A, uh. Straight... shooting man? Honorable. And, uh, Gen pop really isn't the place for you. It's killing you, I know that. I hoped that Alex would be enough, but..."

"I didn't fail prison, Lincoln!" Michael shouted. "Gen Pop isn't where all the cool kids hang out. I'm not..."

"I know. I know, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mikey, I'm sorry. You're right. I'm an ass."

"You are an ass."

"I know. I'm sorry."

He clenched his jaw again. Looked at Alex.

Alex raised an eyebrow.

He sighed. "Fine." He sighed again. "Fine. I forgive you. I...."

A CO stuck his head into the phone room. "Scofield. Doc wants to see you."

"Why?"

He shook his head. "Just come."

"I gotta go, Linc. I'll talk to you later." He pressed his hand to Alex's, then followed the guard.

Dr. Parsons was waiting at the door between the cell block. He was pacing, but stopped when he saw Michael. "Michael. I'm so sorry, I have no right, but... but we can't... I'm afraid he's just going to die anyway. Of just not trying. This is the only thing I can think, and I'm afraid that..."

"What's going on?"

"Ricky tried to kill himself. He saw the guards moving your stuff out of the cell yesterday, and thought you'd been killed. And that, I guess, was the last straw. His cellmate found him early yesterday morning after slitting his wrists. He should be recovering better, but he just... keeps slipping. Insisting you're dead, insisting he screwed over his brother. He doesn't want to live." He stepped forward. Put his hand on Michael's shoulder. "This was not your fault. You had nothing to do with Ricky's decision. However, you might just help put something back into perspective for him."

He nodded, feeling shell shocked. "Yeah. Yeah, fine. I'll talk to him."

"Are you sure? Because I really don't want you to feel uncomfortable. Or for you to be set back in any way and... I really shouldn't have asked you."

"My brother just implied I wasn't cool enough to handle Gen Pop," Michael said wryly. "Believe me, talking to a suicide case would be an improvement on the day."

"Do I even want to know what that means?" Dr. Parsons asked as he and Michael left the cell block and walked toward the infirmary.

He shook his head. "Just my brother being stupidly thoughtless. Sticking his foot in his mouth. We've sort of sorted it out. Kind of. Alex and Pam made us."

Dr. Parsons shot Michael a look. "I heard rumor that your brother is dating Alex's ex-wife."

"Yeah. They're together. It's pretty serious."

"And Alex is okay with it?"

Michael shrugged. "You suggesting he shouldn't be?"

"There are men who wouldn't, even if they are divorced."

"Alex isn't one of them. Lincoln makes Pam happy. And he makes Cameron, Alex's son, happy. And Lincoln can't get angry that we're together this way."

"Would he have?"

"No. But still. Ammunition is always good to have."

Dr. Parsons smiled and nodded. "Here." He stopped in front of a door. Pushed it open. "Just... don't upset him."

"I'll try not to." Heart fluttering nervously in his chest, Michael stepped into the room.

Ricky was stretched out on the bed, restrained. He was pale, lifeless. The monitor tracked his heart, which seemed to Michael's untrained eye to beat slowly. His blood pressure was definitely low. Michael couldn't tell if he was awake or asleep.

"Ricky?" he said tentatively. He edged to the bed. Put his hand on Ricky's arm, above the bandages and restraints. "Ricky. It's me. It's Michael."

He inhaled shakily. "Go away."

"Ricky..."

He tried to pulled his hands up, but the caught on the restraints. A strangled cry was wrung from his throat. "I'm so sick of this. Being crazy. Haunted by my own stupid mind. Just go away and leave me alone."

"You're not crazy, Ricky. It's me. I'm not dead."

"You were killed in the riot. I looked for you. Couldn't find you. And then they cleared out your cell."

"I hid. I saved one of the guards and hid in the kitchens. Now I'm in protective custody."

Ricky laughed soundlessly. "Yeah. That sounds like something you'd do." Finally, he turned his head to look at Michael. "You look good for a dead guy."

"I'm not dead." Tentatively, he reached out to stroke Ricky's face. "Why were you looking for me?"

"Because I'm in love with you, dumbass. I didn't want you getting hurt. And I got you killed."

"I'm not dead." He fumbled a few seconds, then slipped his wrist underneath Ricky's hand. Pressed his fingers to his pulse. "Can you feel that?"

He sighed. Closed his eyes, then nodded. "Yeah, I feel that."

"How does a dead guy have a pulse?"

"I've heard that hallucinations sometimes do that to you."

"Ricky..."

"I'd believe you more if you kissed me."

Michael rolled his eyes. Leaned over and pressed his lips against Ricky's in a chaste kiss. "Satisfied?"

Ricky nodded. "Yeah, I guess. But I'd believe you more if you blew me."

"Don't press your luck." He rubbed Ricky's arm. "I'm glad you can joke."

He opened his eyes again, sighing once more. "I'm not really feeling it. I'm glad you're alive." His hand twitched in Michael's. Tightened. "Really glad."

"Me, too. But I wish you weren't here. Ricky. What were you thinking?" He sat on the edge of the bed, uncomfortably; there wasn't much room. "Why?"

"Why do you think? I've got nothin' to live for, baby doll. I rolled over on my own brother. I'm stuck in here. I'm fucked for life." He sniffed. "Everything I wanted, it's gone. And when my family finds out what I did..." He closed his eyes and turned his head away from Michael. "The mob ain't so forgiving on that kind of stuff, you know?"

He rubbed his thumb over Ricky's knuckles. "You don't have to tell them. Alex didn't say where he got the tip from. He'd probably have figured it out anyway, sooner or later. I mean, he's very much a connect the dots type guy."

"Lucky you got a skin full of dots, right?"

"Ricky."

"I know. I shouldn't torture myself." He sniffed. "Seeing them clear away your stuff, thinking you were gone, I just... lost it. Didn't want to do it anymore. I just want *gone*."

Michael nodded slowly. "I know what you mean. I've been... Ever since the riot, I've felt really hollowed out. Terrified and just unbelievably... sad. Not even just sad, but empty."

Ricky turned back. His eyes were bright, tear trails shining on his cheeks. "You too?"

"Yeah. I'm doing a little better in protective custody. And Alex is helping, of course. He's amazingly level headed sometimes." He squeezed Ricky's hand again. "Does your family know you're gay?"

"The mob doesn't do homosexuality. Don't you watch 'House'?"

He swallowed a laugh. "I was busy when it first came on."

"Right. Planning to break out your brother." A fresh wave of tears broke out. "You'd never give your brother up. Not like I did."

"Ricky," he said helplessly. "Yes, I would have. I was ready to. Everyone... everyone has this idea of what Linc and I are like. Were like. But it's not true, okay? It's not like some perfect brother relationship that involves him sacrificing his life for me so I did it right back. We're not, like, that committed to each other or anything." He sighed. Rubbed his head. "Lincoln borrowed ninety thousand dollars to send me to college. Never mind I was this completely disadvantaged kid who was a genius and would have gotten scholarships and financial aid with no problem, right? Lincoln wanted to make sure, so he borrowed the money. And he didn't tell me, just spent the rest of his life trying to pay it off. Stealing and selling drugs and getting fired from job after job. I was disgusted. I treated him with nothing but scorn. Derision. By the time the whole Steadman thing rolled around, I was ready to cut ties. Go on with my life and let him deal with the mess he'd made of himself."

"Yeah, but when it came to it..."

"My brother was innocent. Yours wasn't. I never would have done it had I not found evidence supporting what Lincoln was saying. That he was framed." Michael shrugged. "I would have kept my job. Kept looking out of his son. And just... waited until the execution day. Let them kill my brother for something he didn't do."

"But you didn't."

"Because he wasn't guilty. Nicky is. So very, very guilty."

"Yeah, well, that isn't going to matter so much to my family." He sniffed.

Michael grabbed a tissue from a nearby table. Wiped Ricky's nose. "So, don't tell them. Let them think the FBI got lucky. And you just... leave."

"And go where?"

"I don't know. Anywhere. Where do you want to go?"

"Space."

"Okay, besides space."

Ricky sighed. "I don't know. I don't know anything right now."

"That's okay." He stroked Ricky's face. "Just as long as you don't plan on going somewhere permanent. I don't want you to die."

"Maybe I won't."

"Promise me."

"Promise you'll visit me."

"If they let me, yeah."

Ricky nodded. Sighed and closed his eyes. "Yeah, okay. I won't try again. I promise."

* * *

It was a beautiful day. Not too hot, humidity low. There was a breeze. All was good.

Until the screaming started.

LJ looked up from the book he was reading. Cameron was on the playground. Underneath him was a boy. The boy had his hands in Cameron's hair. He was tugging, pulling, scratching at Cameron's face. Cameron was pounding the boy beneath him with his fists, screaming and crying.

"Aw, man!" He dropped his book and ran to the playground. "Cameron! Stop it!" He grabbed Cameron around the waist and yanked him off.

"Take it back!" Cameron screamed. "Take it back, liar! Stupid liar fathead!"

"Cameron!"

The other boy sat up and wiped his mouth. "No! You awe a fathead! And youw daddy is a bad man and he's dead!"

"No he's not!" Cameron shrieked. "LJ!"

"No. Cameron, no, you're daddy isn't dead. You know that. We're going to go see him in two days. He's not dead."

"But my mommy said," the other boy began, but LJ cut him off.

"She's wrong. Now get out of here. Go!"

The boy went wide eyed. He stared at LJ a moment, then jumped to his feet and ran.

Cameron began to cry. He wrapped his arms around LJ's neck and buried his face against it. "LJ," he wailed. "LJ, Brian said Daddy died in a wiot. That's not true, right, LJ? Daddy's not dead, right? And, LJ, what's a wiot?"

LJ hugged Cameron tightly. Stroked his back and hair as he rocked the little boy. "It's called a riot. Brian just can't say his 'r's'. A riots like a big fight with a lot of people involved. That's all. Just a big fight."

He sat back, looked up at LJ through leaky eyes. "Was Daddy in a big fight?"

"He was. But he's okay. He and Uncle Mike are fine. When we see them, they might be banged up a little, but that's okay. It happens. You're a little banged up right now, too."

"Is my daddy a bad man?"

"No. No, Cameron, he's not a gad man. He's not a bad man. Really. In fact, he saved someone during the riot. Found a guard who was hurt and kept him safe. So he's a hero. He did a really good thing."

"But he did a bad thing and he's in jail. Does that make him bad?"

"No. No. Sometimes good people do something not good." He kissed Cameron on top of the head. "What he did he did to keep people safe. And it was against the law, but it doesn't make him bad."

"What about Uncle Mike?"

"He did something to protect my dad. And, to do that, he had to break the law. But he's not bad either."

"Is he okay? He didn't get hurt in the big fight?"

LJ shook his head. "No. Maybe a few bruises, but he's okay."

Cameron nodded. Frowned. His small fingers traced the design on LJ's shirt. "I want to talk to Daddy. Can we call him?"

"No. We can't. We have to wait until Saturday."

Fresh tears welled up. "But I want to talk to him now!"

"I'm sorry."

"Why can't we go there? You and me can go now. You have the car."

LJ shook his head. "They won't let us in. I'm too young."

"It's not fair!"

"It's not." He kissed Cameron. Wiped away the tears. "It's not fair, I know." Kissed him again. "Do you want to go home and draw him a picture?"

"No!" Cameron wailed.

Okay. He was overtired. Time to go.

LJ picked Cameron up and stood. Cameron struggled a moment, but then wrapped himself, octopus-like, around LJ. His body shook as he sobbed, but he allowed LJ to carry him from the park and to the car.

"Excuse me," a woman's voice said as LJ buckled Cameron into the safety seat.

He turned. A woman was crossing the parking lot to him, dragging Brian along after her.

"Yeah?" he said tiredly.

"That boy attacked my son."

"Look." He closed the door. "He shouldn't have done it, I know. But Brain told him his dad was dead. That he was killed in a riot. He was upset."

"His father is a criminal. He's lucky I let Brian play with him in the first place."

LJ snapped. "You don't know what you're talking about, lady! His father is a fucking hero a thousand times over. You know the man he killed? Raped and murdered women like you. Dozens of them. You're lucky Alex killed that psycho before he got to you." He climbed into the car and slammed the door. He could hear the woman shouting at him, but he didn't care. He just roared off towards home.

It only took about ten minutes to get home. Cameron cried the entire time. When LJ pulled into the driveway and went to get him out, Cameron looked at him from sticky lashes and a snotty nose and said, "I can't walk."

He sighed. "Yes you can. Get out."

Cameron cried harder, his face twisted. "I can't walk! My leg hurts. It's broken. I can't."

"Cameron..."

"I can't!"

Jesus Christ. Cameron was an easy kid to baby-sit under most circumstances, but did he know how to throw a world class fit.

He pulled Cameron out of the seat and set him on the ground. "See, you're..."

Cameron fell to the ground. Just crumpled like a piece of paper. "It hurts!" he screamed.

"Fine!," LJ shouted. He checked himself. Took a deep breath, then said in a calmer voice, "Okay. I'll carry you." He picked Cameron up and carried him to the house.

Cameron wiped his nose on LJ's shoulder. "I need Nemo."

"You need a nap."

"No!" His body shook. "I'm not tired!"

"Yeah, right," LJ muttered, but he didn't say it too loudly. He was going to be patient and loving if it killed him. He remembered these moments from when he was a kid, when everything was against him and he just couldn't stop screaming or crying. When Uncle Mike had been his baby-sitter, he'd always been so perfect. He'd been calm and comforting to LJ, instead of yelling at him like the other baby-sitters and, sometimes, his own mom.

So, LJ was going to be like that for Cameron. He took Cameron inside the house and into the bathroom. While Cameron continued to cry and complain, LJ washed Cameron's face, cleaning away the sand, blood, and snot.

"There you are," he said when Cameron was clean. "I couldn't see you anymore under all that gunk."

Cameron just screwed his face into a grimace and dropped his head back. Another long wail wend its way from his throat.

LJ picked him back up. The song that Uncle Mike used to sing to him every night came back to him. Softly, under his breath, he hummed it. At first, there was no way Cameron could have heard over his own noises, but by the time they got back to the bedroom, he had calmed.

"Here we are," LJ said. He stretched out on the bed and settled Cameron next to him.

"No nap!"

"You don't have to take one, but I'm exhausted. I'm just going to close my eyes for a few minutes, okay?"

"No."

LJ began to hum the song again. He closed his eyes and reached out for Nemo. Hugging the fist against his face, he settled back.

It took a few minutes, but Cameron finally moved to snuggle against him. A few minutes later, he was asleep.

LJ opened his eyes. Cameron was conked out, lying across his chest. His mouth was open. Soft snores tumbled out of his mouth as he breathed. His long lashes were damp, stuck together.

He ran his hand through Cameron's hair. "Poor kid," he whispered. He stroked Cameron's hair. "It's gonna be okay. I promise." Then, because the fit really had taken a lot out of him, too, LJ closed his eyes and soon followed Cameron into the land of Lethe.


	27. Chapter 27

Alex was stretched across their bed, reading when Michael got back. He looked up as the guard closed and locked the door behind Michael.

"The guards say anything about our improvements yet?" Michael asked. He threw himself on to the bed, face first.

"Not yet. Although one might have said not to get used to it. We'll be moved to the regular protective segregation unit by the end of the week."

Michael pouted. "But I like it here."

Alex draped himself over Michael's back. Pressed a kiss into his neck. "I like it here, too. I like the privacy of the extra wall and everything. But our lives aren't our own."

He groaned.

"Off." Alex tugged at Michael's shirt.

He sat up and allowed Alex to strip him of his shirt and undershirt. Then he lay back down.

"So," Alex said, pressing his hands into the muscles in Michael's back. "What was that about?"

Michael groaned softly. He hadn't realized how tight his back was until Alex started his massage. Now, it was almost all he could think of. That, and the feel of Alex's hands on his back, smoothing up and down, rubbing in circles up the length of his spine and out around to his sides.

"Michael?"

"Oh. Ricky tried to kill himself. Dr. Parsons was hoping I could pull him out of the depressed haze he was in." He groaned again when Alex hit a sore spot. "He thought I was dead."

"So he tried to kill himself?"

"End of a long line of stuff."

"Oh, yeah, I know. Poor kid." He concentrated on the sore spot, pressing his fingers into it as he rubbed. "You get through to him?"

"Dunno. Maybe. He didn't believe it was me at first. Thought I was a hallucination." Michael sighed. Folded his arms under his head. "I finally managed to convince him I was real. Then we talked." He sighed again. "He's so screwed up."

"Well, yeah. After what his brother did to him, did you expect anything less?"

"I guess not. I still have problems picturing... I don't understand why someone would do something like that. To someone they love, especially. I mean, God, they were twins."

"I'm curious as to what happened to Nicky. If he was abused or something. Or maybe he's just an asshole. Maybe there's no dark, secret reason he turned on his brother like that." Alex moved his hands to Michael's shoulders. Pressed his fingers into them, working through the numerous knots hidden under his skin. "The information I got from Wheeler indicated that Ricky was the favored child. He was the smart one, the one who was expected to be something. Maybe Nicky was afraid Ricky would leave him behind. Attain such great heights, he wouldn't care about Nicky anymore. Would look at how his life turned out and... distance himself as much as possible."

Michael's stomach knotted. His throat closed and all the muscles Alex had just soothed tensed back up.

"Michael?"

"Nicky was probably right," Michael whispered. "Look at me and Lincoln."

"You and Lincoln are nothing like Espositos, Michael."

He sniffed. "I was so disgusted by Lincoln. Frustrated that all he could ever do was call for money or to get him out of jail. That he couldn't put his life together. I really thought he'd pissed away ninety-thousand dollars, when he'd borrowed it for me."

"Maybe he didn't piss away ninety-thousand dollars, but he did prevail on you for money and he did break the law. No, his life wasn't perfect, but neither was yours. Now, what he did was noble, if stupid, because you had obvious advantages in the way of getting financial aid. However. What he did he did out of love for you. What you did, you did out of love for him." He pressed the heels of his hands into Michael's back, leaning his weight into it. "Now if the two of you would ever learn to stop expecting the other to be what he isn't and to *talk* to one another, you'd be fine."

"What do you mean?"

Alex climbed off Michael and crossed the room. He grabbed a bottle of lotion from the top and came back. "You know your brother isn't all that articulate, to use your own words. And you know as well as I do that he suffers from a case of incredibly blunt foot-in-mouth disease." When he put his hands on Michael again, they were greasy and slid easily.

"Yeah, I know."

"So you need to try and stop reacting as if he's purposely trying to hurt you." His fingers pressed underneath Michael's shoulder blades.

"He's the one who implied it was better to be in Gen Pop than suffer the ignominy of protective segregation."

He laughed. "Oh, that's what his implication was about? I wasn't aware he knew what ignominy was."

"He's sleeping with your wife."

Hands slid up Michael's neck. Rubbed small circles just beneath his head. "So I'm not allowed to insult him?"

"You insult him, you're insulting the person he's sleeping with."

"He may not be as smart as his brother, but he's a reasonably intelligent man with a lot of heart. He cares about Pam and he cares about my son. That's all I care about."

"Oh. Well, then. Okay." Michael sighed as Alex's hands slid behind his ears. Rubbed over the lobes and then down his jaw. "I can't help it. The way I react. I hate feeling like I've disappointed him. Especially when I'm right."

"I know."

"I don't want to be here. But I'd rather be here than out there. Even with the taint of being a rape victim."

The hands still around Michael's neck. Just momentarily, then moved to the nape then up over his head. "You're not a rape victim."

Michael squeezed his eyes shut. His fingers dug into the blankets. "Fine, okay. Trauma victim. Although, how deep does a knife have to be thrust into someone's ass while the attacker talks about sex before it's considered rape?"

Lips pressed into the nape of his neck. A body draped his. Hands slid down his arms, fingers tangled with his. "That's not what I meant. I meant that I don't like you thinking of yourself as a victim. And putting what happened first."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're not a rape victim. You're a man who was raped. Or traumatized, whichever you prefer. What happened doesn't change who you are. Doesn't tar you with a brush for the rest of your life."

"You're very PC, aren't you? You were the first person to start using the term people of color and the like, huh?"

Alex kissed his cheek. "Not really. Not until I heard people calling Cameron crippled. Or physically disabled. Handicapped. And Pam told me how frustratingly dehumanizing it was for him to be out in public and have people treat him like a broken boy. Then, while I was detoxing, I got something of a taste. My lawyer was awful at seeing passed the mental imbalance that drove me to self-medicate. He stopped seeing me, treated me like I was going to snap at any second. Like I was an idiot." He cleared his throat. "The guards did that to Travis, too. He let them. I don't want you to let anyone treat you like what Nicky did to you sums up your entire experience in life. I don't want you to think like that."

Michael cleared his throat. His entire body felt warm, not just on the outside, where Alex was touching him. The warmth spread from his stomach. Radiating outwards until his limbs were soft. Relaxed. Warm and moving on toward hot.

"I don't," he said. "Not most days. But hearing Lincoln say that..."

"Lincoln doesn't think of you as a rape victim." Lips brushed over Michael's ears, warm, hot tongue traced the curve. "In his mind, you don't belong here because you're neither a rape victim nor a snitch." Teeth this time, gentle. Holding. "He could never think of you as anything less than the brilliant, strong brother who pulled his life together and sacrificed everything to save him."

Tears were in the corner of his eyes, gathered in the ducts. His nose was clogged. "Does he know that? I mean, does he really get it?"

"Of course he does. And you know he doesn't want you here. He fought you tooth and nail when you wanted to turn yourself in. And you know he worries about you in here. He only wants as best."

He sniffed. "I know."

"Lincoln just doesn't know how to express it so you understand it. That's all. He wasn't trying to hurt you. He's just got this... image of prison, and in his mind, you're in a place that you don't belong. Even if you're safer here. When he comes on Saturday, you have to talk to him. Get him to understand."

"He won't listen."

"So make him listen. Use LJ or Pam to translate if you have to, but get him to see why you were upset. And why being here is a good thing."

A tear slipped out of his eyes. Trailed down the side of his nose and curved under his nostril, resting on his upper lip. "I hate feeling like I'm disappointing him."

"You're not disappointing him. What he said had nothing to do with you. Only with his perception on what protective segregation is."

A second tear joined the first. "Yeah." He didn't want to think about it any more. Didn't want to talk about it.

Alex didn't say anything more. He sat up, drawing his hands over Michael's skin. Rubbed up his back, over his neck, his head. Through his hair, caressing with soft circles. Spreading a network of tingles and heat wherever he touched. Down the side of Michael's face. Over his ear, his neck. Down his arm. Traced each fingers, each knuckle, the tendons that stood out. Back up, over his shoulders and down the other arm where he again explored.

He touched everywhere. His sides. The small of his back. Each rib, each bone in his spine he massaged. Urged off Michael's pants, his underwear. Pressed the heels of his hands into Michael's bottom, around and under so he could rub circles over the sharp hipbones. Around to his thigh, and down.

Michael's skin warmed. His blood pulsed. He could feel his muscles unknot. Smooth. Relax.

But it was more than that. More than a massage. Alex was making love to him. Touching him, every inch. Laying claim, taking away the pain, the hurt.

And it was just touch. Magic, deep, loving, spiritual touch, but that was it. He explored and painted passion on Michael's skin, but he wasn't asking... wasn't demanding.

Alex had Michael's foot in his hands. Thumbs pressed into the arch of Michael's foot. Circling his toes, pulling on them, and there was an answering pulse in Michael's cock.

"Turn over," Alex said softly.

Michael swallowed, heart in his throat. He clenched his fingers in the sheets. Rolled over.

Alex settled over Michael's thighs. "Say stop any time," he said.

He nodded.

He started at Michael's face. Drew his fingers over Michael's forehead. He shivered as Alex traced his eyebrows. Around each eye, over his cheekbones, his lips. He couldn't stop the sighs, the moans as Alex continued down his body. And it was so hot, so much. Building pressure. Volcano. Blood molten, fast. Fiery. Pulsing and...

"Ah," Michael gasped. Shuddered. Came, thick, hot ropes of semen splashing against his stomach. Alex's hands on his chest, rubbing small, soothing circles.

Alex, whispering, nonsense, shushing, loving.

Tears slid from Michael's eyes unbidden. Uncontrolled. And Alex kept touching him. Down over Michael's stomach, rubbing against the come. Spreading it, sticky. Over his hips, down his thighs. Lightly around Michael's spent penis, limp, satisfied. Twitching.

Hands between his thighs. Rubbing. Over muscles, down to his knees. His shins and back to his feet. Up, leaving nothing untouched, unexplored.

Back to his cock. Taking it in hand. Stroking. One hand over him, one hand down. Under. Fondling balls. Against his perineum. Between his cheeks.

Michael tensed.

Alex looked at him, silent. Questioning.

He swallowed. Said nothing.

He slipped his fingers in further. Up and down, over sensitive skin, barely brushing. Touching. Light, love. Stroking his cock, up and down and Michael couldn't stop crying but he wasn't scared, just overwhelmed, ever bit of him alive. Loved. Tingling and ready to burst and explode and...

Almost painful this time, but Michael came. Convulsed, shuddering. Crying out, silent, mouth open, eyes wide, tears making everything blurry. Sweat stung over his body, his limbs trembled in the aftershock.

And then Alex was next to him, holding, gathering him close. Kissing him. Michael clung to Alex, kissing him back, his tears making the kiss salt-sweet.

"I love you," Michael whispered. His eyes were heavy now. every limb heavy and sated. Warm waves washed over him.

Alex kissed him, lips first, both eyes, forehead. "I love you to," he said, the last think Michael heard before sleep claimed him.


	28. Chapter 28

"Gentlemen," the warden greeted them as a guard showed them into his office. "Thank you for seeing me this morning."

Alex shot Michael a wry look, which was returned. It wasn't that they didn't appreciate the warden's attempts to make them feel human, but sometimes it was a little much.

"It's our pleasure," Alex said.

"I'll try to make this brief. I know you have visitors coming today, and I wanted to give you time..." He stopped. Cleared his throat. "Um. Well. Here." He picked up two folders from his desk and handed them to Alex and Michael.

Michael opened his folder. "This is a petition for commutation of sentence."

"Yes, I'm well aware of what it is, Michael."

"Why?"

The warden shrugged. "Basically, I want you out of my prison. I don't think either of you belong here. I think that, given the circumstances of your incarceration, and the events that have occurred since, it'd be in the best interests of everyone for you to be released."

Alex looked over the application. He frowned. "What exactly do you mean by this being in the best interests of everyone, sir?"

"Incarceration is supposed to serve two purposes. One is to rehabilitate. The other is to punish. It is my opinion that neither of you gentlemen needs to be rehabilitated. You are both aware of your crimes and wrongdoings. You are suitably penitent, given the circumstances. And, furthermore, neither of you poses any danger to the community. You both meet the qualifications for successful rehabilitation."

"And punishment?" Michael asked, his voice flat. Dull.

Alex glanced at him. Frowned. Michael looked as if he had completely shut down. his face was blank, eyes dark. He was staring at a point past the warden.

"I think you've both been punished enough," the warden said softly. "Far beyond any judge and jury would have wished."

Maybe. Maybe not. "So, what do we do?" asked Alex.

"Start by filling out the forms. I'm going to ask the guards if they would write a letter on your behalf. Simms has already agreed. Ralston is still recovering, but his wife has asked if she might write a letter. She would like to meet you, Alex. To thank you for saving Ralston's life."

He shrugged. He would rather not, but it wasn't up to him, ultimately.

"I suggest you asked your family and any friends for letters of support as well. At the very least, I hope to get the two of you transferred to a minimum security prison. At the most, I would like to see you released and able to go about your lives."

"We just fill these out?" Alex said.

"It's a start. I'll file them for you, or you can do it yourself. I printed out all the relevant information if you have questions. Now, you do have the option to type it. You may do that in the prison library if you wish."

Alex closed the folder. Looked up at the warden. "I don't know what to say, sir. Thank you."

"Well, like I said. You don't need to be here. And you're taking up space for those who do. Prisons are crowded enough as it is. We don't need men who pose no danger to society in here."

The door opened. "Warden. We need you."

The warden nodded. "Will you please escort these men back to their cell?"

"Of course, sir."

As soon as they were inside their cell, Michael dropped his folder on the floor. He then threw himself on the bed and burrowed under the covers.

Alex frowned. Bent down and picked up Michael's folder before setting them both on the dresser. He checked his watch; Lincoln and Pam weren't due for another two hours.

"What's going on?" Alex asked. He toed off his shoes and climbed onto the bed.

Michael's voice was muffled by the blankets. "Nothing. Just tired, that's all."

"Bullshit. You completely shut down in there. You just threw down your chance to get out of here."

Michael snorted.

He rubbed Michael's back through the blankets. "It might happen. If the warden pushes hard enough, if he can get people to listen. It might happen."

"It won't."

"I always thought it was bull that they sent you here. After what you went through. The emotional damage the company caused you and your..."

"Shut up." Michael pulled the blankets off his head. "It hurts too much, Alex. I can't... I'm too busy trying to get by the day. It's easier here. This is the best I can hope for. Best I'm willing to hope for."

He reached out. Stroked Michael's cheek. "You've got to have faith, Michael."

Michael shook his head. "I've used all mine up." He held Alex's hand against his cheek. "Except for us. I have faith in us."

Alex stretched out on the bed. Pulled Michael to him.

Michael rested his head in the crook of Alex's neck. One hand came up to grip Alex's shirt, holding it. Kneading it, almost like a cat.

"Will you please at least fill it out?" Alex asked. He rubbed his cheek against Michael's silky hair. "For me. Please?"

He sighed. "Only if you don't expect me to believe it."

"No." He kissed Michael's forehead. "I'll do that. You concentrate on us."

"Okay." He closed his eyes. "I can do that."

Alex sighed. Hugged Michael close. He was wondering how he'd missed this. Missed how depressed, how hopeless Michael had become. He'd seen the signs. Heard Michael saying he wanted to go home. That he hated it here. That he thought he was going to die. Everything was there. All the evidence, and yet...

He hadn't realized how hopeless Michael had become.

If they didn't get out of here, Michael wasn't going to survive. He wouldn't follow Ricky's example, but he would allow himself to waste away. And Alex had to stop it.

* * *

"Daddy!" Cameron shrieked. He ran across the room full speed and threw himself at Alex.

Michael watched as Alex caught his son and swung him into the air. He had a huge smile on his face. Beaming, so incredibly happy. All he needed was his son to make the world right, and all Michael needed was him. And even then, it wasn't enough.

He was jealous of Alex, and he hated being jealous. But he felt so dirty inside lately. Alex looked so clean. So happy. Michael wanted that. So very badly.

"Uncle Mike!"

He hadn't finished turning from Alex before LJ had his arms around him.

"Hey, LJ."

"I missed you." LJ squeezed him tightly. "Go easy on Dad," he whispered. "He's been beating himself up for the past two days."

He laughed. "Yeah, okay. I'll go easy."

LJ squeezed him once more then stepped back.

Pam was next, with a quick hug and a kiss to his cheek.

And then there was Lincoln. Shifting his weight. Holding a box in his hands. "Mikey. I'm so sorry for what I said."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. I wasn't thinking. I wasn't..." He held the box out. Thrust it into Michael's hands. Then he grabbed Michael by the arm and pulled him away from the group. "Michael, when I said what I did, I wasn't thinking about what happened to you. Okay? That's not why I said that."

Michael couldn't look at his brother. "I know."

"No. I mean, okay, maybe Alex told you, but I have.... You're my baby brother. And all I could think was you're in protective seg and then you get this reputation, and when they move you back to Gen Pop, you have to fight twice as hard. I don't want things to be hard for you. Harder."

"The warden says I can stay."

"Good. I'm glad. For the whole sentence? Like, all ten years?"

A lump formed in Michael's throat. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't....

Lincoln grabbed him and propelled him further away from the group. To a corner table and pushed him down. Sat next to him. "Talk to me, Michael. What's going on?"

His fingers tightened on the box Lincoln had given him. "Nothing."

"No, not nothing. What is it? Is it Alex?"

"No, it's not Alex." He looked up at the ceiling. "I shouldn't even... you were sentenced to die, I have no right to..."

"To what? To feel? Of course you do. Don't be stupid."

Michael shook his head. "It's too much. I just want to go home."

"You're homesick."

"It's worse. I just... the riot and I can't stop thinking that I'm going to die. And Alex wants me to think about our life outside of this and the warden wants me to fill out this stupid paperwork to get out of here, and I don't see the point, you know? I just... I'm going to be in here forever, okay? I'm never getting out, not alive, and I just want everyone to leave me alone. Just to stop pretending."

Lincoln took the box from Michael. Squeezed his shoulder, his arm. "How long have you felt like this?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. Forever? Since the riot, I can't remember."

"Have you told Alex?"

He nodded.

"Have you told your counselor?"

"Haven't see him yet."

"Then you need to tell the warden and you need him to get your counselor in. I don't want you doing anything you're going to regret because you feel like this."

He shook his head. "I'm not going to hurt myself."

"And you're not going to trap yourself in your mind?" Lincoln said. "I know you can. I've seen you do it."

Michael shook his head again.

"Promise me. Promise me that you will not do anything to retreat from any of this. Please. I need to hear it."

"I promise."

"Look at me."

Michael blinked. Wiped tears away and met Lincoln's eyes. "I promise I won't trap myself in my mind."

Lincoln studied him a moment, then nodded. "Okay. Come here." He pulled Michael into an embrace. Held him tightly. "The first year's the hardest, Michael. And what you've been through... It's hell, I get that. And I would give anything for you not to be here. You don't deserve to be here. You don't belong."

"I know. I thought it'd be best. I wanted to be punished for what I did. For T-Bag. But it's so hard."

"I know." He stroked Michael's arm. "So what's this about the warden?"

Michael sighed. "He gave me and Alex a petition for commutation of sentence. He says that he thinks we should try to get out. But I don't think it'll work."

"Doesn't hurt to try."

"Yes it does."

Lincoln raised his eyebrow. "I don't know. When the warden of the prison you're in is trying to get you out, that says something."

"It says that he has nothing better to do with his time than waste it."

Lincoln rubbed Michael's shoulder. "It says something to the President. It says that the petition isn't from just another con looking to subvert the system with paperwork. That you've got validity to your claim and all."

"It'll just hurt so much if I get my hopes up and then it doesn't happen. I don't want to go through that."

"I understand. I've been there." Lincoln lightly bumped his head against Michael's. "Fill it out. Send it off. Then forget about it. Concentrate on Alex and your art. It'll probably take some time anyway, so thinking about it will just stress you out. But think about all the time you have in prison. Besides, you know how good you are at filling out applications."

Michael laughed. "You used to think I could make a profession out of it."

"You applied to almost a hundred colleges and something like forty-five stores in one month. You had the lingo for everything down. I was highly impressed." He squeezed Michael's shoulder. "Seriously, though. Anything that takes up time is good, right?"

He sighed. "I guess." He sighed. "I hate feeling like this, Lincoln."

"I know." He hugged Michael tightly. "I know you do. But, you know, it's normal. And I figured you'd start feeling like this. I wasn't sure when, but being in prison is hard. And being you in prison has got to be really hard. But you have Alex and you have a counselor. And a doctor who really seems to care about you. You can call me and LJ whenever you need. You're not alone here, Michael."

Michael nodded. Focused on breathing. "I know."

"It's just the riot, Michael. I mean, not just. But that's a big part of it, okay?'

"Okay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." He smiled at Lincoln, tremulously. He still felt like he was going to break any second.

Lincoln butted heads with him again, his version of a kiss since Michael was eight years old. "You're going to be okay, Michael. I promise you." He did it again. "Oh. And here." He picked the box back up and handed it to Michael. "This is for you."

"I figured." He opened the package. "Honeycomb!" Grinning ear to ear he ripped open the cellophane covering the candy. "You got me chocolate covered honeycomb."

"I did. I figured it was the best way to say I was sorry for being an ass."

Michael laughed and took a chunk out. "I think I agree." He took a bite, eyes falling shut. A contented sigh escaped as the chocolate and honey sweetness melted over his tongue. "God, this stuff is so good."

"I know it's your favorite. I just thought... You know."

"Thank you, Lincoln."

"You're welcome. Now. You ready to go join the group? I think they're worried."

Michael took another bite of his candy. Nodded and sighed. "Yeah. Okay. Let's go."

Pam, LJ, and Alex were talking and laughing when they went back over. Except for Alex taking Michael's hand to squeeze, no one reacted to his meltdown.

Except Cameron. About ten minutes after Michael and Lincoln had rejoined the group, Cameron had put down his crayon, climbed down from his seat next to Alex, and walked around the table to Michael.

Michael didn't even notice until he felt a tug at his shirt.

He glanced down. "Cameron. What's up?"

Cameron fisted Michael's shirt and pulled himself into Michael's lap. Once up, he stood and wrapped his arms around Michael's neck. "Uncle Mike," he whispered. "Why are you sad?"

"What?"

"Why are you sad?"

He sighed. Rubbed Cameron's back. "I'm homesick."

Cameron nodded. His eyes were somber, knowing. "When I was in the hospital, I was homesick. But you have Daddy. Does he help?"

"A little."

His little forehead furrowed. "Mommy gave me Nemo when I was in the hospital. So I wouldn't be lonely. Do you want a Nemo?"

He smiled. "No, it's okay. I think I'll be okay."

"Because Nemo was homesick, too. Sometimes that helps. Having a friend who feels the same way."

"I know. It does help."

Cameron licked his lips. "Uncle Mike, do you really have pictures here?" He rubbed Michael's chest.

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Where did you hear about that?"

"Mom and Lincoln were watching the movie on TV, and there was a man who was pretending to be you and he had pictures on his skin. Do you have pictures on your skin?"

"I do."

"Can I see them?" Large, innocent, *eager* eyes.

He blushed. "I can't take my shirt off here, Cameron. They don't like that. Oh, but here." He pushed his sleeves up and held out his arms.

"Wow," Cameron breathed. He lowered his head until his nose almost touched Michael's skin. "Pretty." His fingers ran up and down Michael's arm. "How does it stay on?"

"It's in my skin. Someone put it there with needles and ink."

He gasped. "Did it hurt?"

Michael smiled. "It did, actually. But I had to do it."

"Because it helped Lincoln, right? That's what the man on TV said. It's a map."

"It is."

Cameron grinned. "Cool." He stood again and put his arms around Michael's neck. "Uncle Mike," he whispered, "are you going to marry my daddy?"

His stomach nosedived. "Um." He had no idea how he was supposed to answer that question. "I don't know. Why?"

"Because I heard Mom and Lincoln talking. They sayed you and Daddy loved each other, and Daddy and Mom are divorced. She might marry Lincoln, so are you going to marry Daddy?"

"I'm not sure. I'd like to."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cameron smile. His cheek brushed against Michael's as they turned out. "So you'll be my daddy, too?"

"I guess. Maybe."

Cameron moved back. Sucked on his lower lip. "So what should I call you?"

Up until just now, he'd been calling Michael, Michael. This 'Uncle Mike' thing was new, and, no doubt, LJ's influence. "You can call me whatever you want, I guess."

"LJ calls you Uncle Mike."

"That's because I'm his uncle."

"Can I call you Uncle Mike, too?"

He smiled. "Yes. If you want to, that's fine."

"Okay." He kissed Michael's cheek. "I love you, Uncle Mike."

Something dark and empty in Michael glowed faintly for the first time in a while. He rested his cheek against Cameron's and pressed his hand into his back, just feeling his heart beat against his own chest. He sighed. "You know what, Cameron? I love you too."


	29. Chapter 29

"Is he licking the wall?" Randall said.

"Hey, Alex. You licking the wall?" asked O'Connell.

Alex looked up at the TV where the man playing Special Agent Alexander Mahone was almost plastered against a wall. "No, I did not lick the wall. Doesn't look like he is, either."

The image of the kid playing Michael appeared right next to Mahone. It looked like the two men were looking at each other, into each other's eyes.

And then Mahone reached out. His fingers brushed the ghostly image of the Michael on screen.

Randall and O'Connell lost it.

"Even the writers know 'bout you two!" Randall said, practically doubled over with laughter.

"Stop moving!" Michael snapped. He sat back, pen in hand. Glared up at Randall.

Randall was still laughing. "I can't help it, Michael. Look at that." He pointed at the screen.

Currently, 'Mahone' was staring out at the river. He ordered it to be dragged for the hard drive.

"I so should have wiped the hard drive with magnets," Michael said, shaking his hand.

"Yes, you should have," Alex agreed. "Glad you didn't, but if you were smart..."

"Oh, fuck you."

Alex grinned wolfishly at him and licked his lips.

"I thought I might need it again. And no one was going to think of dragging the fucking river. Only someone as insane as me. And what were the odds?" He pressed Randall's cast covered leg back down and bent over it.

Alex settled back on the couch. Michael was sitting almost right against his legs, so he ran one up Michael's back, gently. "How were you going to get it?" he asked.

Michael sighed. He didn't answer, just moved his face closer to Randall's cast and continued to draw.

"Were you going to dive in? Rent scuba gear?"

"If I needed to."

"What information did you need from it."

"My plan for seducing insanely hot FBI agents."

Randall snorted. "Looks to me like you had him the second he saw your mug shot."

"Naw, you're not watching closely enough," Michael responded. "It was the tattoo. Before he realized what the tattoo was, I was just another con. The fact I put my plan on my body made me a god in his eyes."

Alex's face warmed. "Not exactly."

"Yeah, right." Michael looked up and gave him a smirk.

He blushed harder and looked away. But only briefly. When he looked back, Michael had lowered his head again and was back to decorating Randall's cast.

Not exactly. Not a god, Alex thought, gazing at Michael's bowed head. The lights shining dully off the jet black silk of his hair. The pale curve of his neck as it rose gracefully from the blue collar of his uniform.

Not exactly.

There'd been something when he'd realized what Michael had done. A spark. A fissure of excitement that had exploded when their eyes first met in the elevator. That encounter had left him breathless. Aching and excited and completely unable to think straight.

He hadn't known what to think. What to make of the myriad of unfamiliar thoughts and feelings that coursed through him. And then, thanks to the company, he hadn't had to think about it. Only could concentrate on the business of catching and killing. Protecting his family.

He'd hated Michael Scofield for a time. Tried to. Failed. Oh, he'd talked it. Ranted and raved at how Michael had ruined his life. Had destroyed the possibility of happiness for him. How he wished he'd killed Michael when he had the chance.

It'd never been true. It hadn't been a lie, per say, but he'd never hated Michael. It'd been impossible, if only because Alex had to be honest with himself. Everything he'd done for the company tore him apart. Compounded the guilt he carried over Oscar Shales. The guilt drove him mad. Being caught, turning himself in, had been a relief.

Relief had turned into something much like true happiness. He had Michael. He had Pam and Cameron, both who were happy and getting on with their lives. He'd broken his addiction, had come to terms with what he'd done, and he was in a place where he didn't have to worry about being killed every time he stepped out of the relative safety of his cell.

If only Michael could feel the same sense of relief. Of happiness. If only he wasn't so damn depressed.

The past couple days had been good. Relatively speaking. He and Michael had filled out their petitions the day before. They'd spent hours in the library writing and revising and checking each other's statements. Several times, Alex had to force Michael to change what he'd written, since Michael tended to take responsibility for the sins of the world and, thus, sound more like he was asking for further punishment than to be set free.

He'd accepted the changes Alex had given him without complaint. Without joy, either. This was obviously a chore for Michael. He didn't want to allow himself even a sliver of hope.

It drove Alex crazy because, for the first time in years, he had hope. Hope for the future. For them. For happiness. He liked to hold Michael late at night, when everything was silent, and imagine the future. Their future. Fantasy, yes, very often, but still. It took him away to picture him and Michael living in a house on the beach. Or across the street from Pam and Lincoln, only a few steps away. Cameron over any night he wanted. LJ in and out as he pleased. And the ability to lock the door and take Michael in any room of the house that he wanted.

Foolish fantasy of a man who lost too much. Moving into Michael's old flat, overlooking the river. Going on vacation to the coast, to the mountains. Michael, basking in the sun, soaking it up like a cat.

Children.

One could dream.

Just not with his lover. Michael could only think of the here and now. So Alex dreamed in the darkness and during the day, he held his tongue.

Simms had brought the tape of 'Break Out' a few days before. The guards had allowed them to watch it during their recreation hours, and Alex had only talked Michael into it the day before.

It'd been a two part miniseries, two hours each. The first part had dealt with the break-out itself. Alex had found it fascinating. Not only did Ackles do a fantastic job portraying Michael's intenseness and drive, but there were so many things about the actual break-out he hadn't known. How T-Bag got involved. Bellick's role. How close Michael and Westmoreland had become.

He'd never understood why Michael had needed to ask Sara to leave the door open. Never realized that his plan had been foiled unexpectedly. He'd forgotten about the faked diabetes. Hadn't known how Pope had taken Michael under his wing, guided him, loved him. And how Michael had betrayed him.

Michael hadn't slept well the night they watched the first part.

Curiosity drove them to watch the second part. To see how their story unfolded as seen through the eyes of others.

So far, it was... interesting. Strange, seeing someone say words you'd said and play a life you'd lived. Familiar and foreign all at once.

Michael looked like he was only paying half attention. Most of his attention was focused on Randall's cast. The plain white plaster was quickly becoming a work of art. But anything in Michael's hands became that.  
"Wait!" O'Connell protested. "Why is Lincoln making you go after the kid? Won't that just get you caught?"

"Ya think?" Michael said. He rose on his knees, tracing a line around Randall's leg. "Look at me. I'm arguing."

"Not very hard."

"Hey," Alex said sharply, but Michael just shrugged.

"I didn't want LJ in jail any more than Lincoln. He didn't deserve to be there. So, yeah, maybe I didn't argue very hard." He frowned. Chewed on his bottom lip. "And, I guess I was kind of addicted to the high."

Alex looked up. "The high?"

Michael's cheeks burned a dull red. "Sara pointed it out to me. That breaking out, being on the run, being pursued. It was a rush. And a part of me liked it." He frowned. "Although, I liked the part before it better. When I was planning. Putting it all together, envisioning how it'd work. That definitely got me high. Didn't sleep for months."

"Do you really believe that?" he couldn't help asking. "That all that... you were addicted to it? The danger?"

"I don't know. I guess." He rubbed the back of his neck, not noticing that the pen brushed over his cheek, leaving a long, black mark. "It was exciting."

"And when it was over. When Lincoln was free and you turned yourself in. How did you feel?"

Michael's brow furrowed. Lower lip stuck out before he pulled it back in, running his teeth over it. "Relieved. Exhausted. Just... glad it was over and done with." He licked his lips. "I slept almost three days. I mean I was in the hospital anyway, because I was dehydrated and exhausted and I'd been shot. But, yeah."

"And when you woke up from it all, you were glad it was done."

"Well. Yeah."

Alex smiled. Shook his head. "That's not addiction. And addict never wants it to stop. Or, even if he does, isn't relieved when he's suddenly cut off."

"But..."

"Holy shit," Randall said suddenly.

Alex looked at him, then at the screen.

'Michael' and 'Mahone' were currently giving each other what had to be the longest, most lust-ridden gaze ever in the history of television.

"Oh, shit," Michael groaned. He flopped onto his back, head hitting the thinly carpeted floor with an audible thump.

"What?" Alex asked. He couldn't pull his eyes from the screen. The Ackles kid was pretty but, more than that, seeing it on screen pulled him back to that elevator. Standing with LJ next to him, Michael staring down at him. Eyes wide. Mouth open, lips moist. Cheeks flushed pink. Wonder and awe and fear and...

Well. He supposed it was arousal. In his eyes, all there.

No wonder Alex hadn't been able to think.

"When I talked to Jensen about everything. He kept asking how I felt about you. When I saw you in certain scenes. In general."

"What did you say?" asked Randall.

Michael laughed. "I told him the truth. What the hell, you know? It wasn't like I did anything overt, and I made sure to tell him that. I never said anything suggestive or anything. But I told him how attracted I was, and how sometimes, I just couldn't turn away. Couldn't stop looking at you." He cleared his throat. "I may have also told him that that first time I called you? And we talked? Felt sort of like having phone sex."

"Boss!" O'Connell shouted. "We need to fast forward this thing like now!"

"No!' another inmate--Dan, by the sound of it--protested. "I'm all into this crap show, and I want to see how it plays out."

"You interested, ask the men who were there," said Randall.

"No. I want to see the show."

"And I want to see them have phone sex."

Dan threw a bag of potato chips. It hit O'Connell in the head. "Do that crap on your own time, sicko. We ain't fast forwarding."

"In the meantime, we're missing the movie. Shut up!" someone else snapped.

O'Connell got up. "You got a problem?"

"Hey!" A guard came into the room, hands out. He had the remote control and hit stop. "The only reason you in here, O'Connell, is so you didn't have to deal with the shit out in Gen Pop. If you're going to start fucking around, though, you're out. No second chance."

"And you're fighting over to see a scene when you complain about seeing something similar every day," Michael pointed out, voice tight.

Alex looked at him. His face was very pale, eyes wide. He was breathing very quickly.

O'Connell closed his eyes. Shook his head. "You're right. I'm being an asshole. I'm sorry, Dan. Guys. Boss."

"We good here?" the guard said.

O'Connell tossed the chips back to Dan. Looked at him.

Dan nodded. "We're cool."

"Okay then." He turned the movie back on.

Michael capped his pen and rose. He leaned over Randall and said something too soft for Alex to hear.

Randall nodded and clapped Michael on the shoulder. "No problem."

Alex stood and followed Michael from the room. "Michael. Michael, wait."

He stopped. Turned. "I just want to go back to the cell."

"But..."

"I just want to..."

He caught Michael's hands. Kissed the inside of both wrists. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "I want to go back to the cell."

"Okay, we can do that." He dropped one hand, but kept a grip on the other. There were only about thirty guys in protective segregation. There was a smaller yard attached to the wing, and the guards generally let them wander both inside and out during their free hours. Life was a lot calmer here, easier. Less like they were prisoners and more like they were men with slightly restricted freedom. Not great, but better.

They got back to their cell. Michael closed the door, giving them privacy even if it didn't lock. Then, he began to pace.

"What happened?" Alex asked, sitting on the bed.

"Nothing." He swallowed. "Why did I say that?"

"Say what?"

"Tell them what I told Jensen. Tell him what I felt about you. God, whose business was it? He didn't care."

"Obviously he did. He put his attraction into his performance. He wanted to portray the real story, and, let's face it, Michael. Your attraction to me was part of the real story."

He stopped pacing. Tugged on his fingers. "Yeah, but... He must have told the other actor. So now he knows. And they were probably laughing at us."

"Why would you think that?"

"That they're laughing at us?"

"That. Or that Jensen told Vincent anything about what you said."

"You saw the way they were looking at each other."

Alex shrugged. "I told Vincent that when I saw you in the elevator, I felt almost like I was looking at a work of art. I was awed and intrigued. A little amused, because I knew it couldn't have been your idea to be there, and I was blown away that this plan you'd thrown together had almost worked. That's what I saw in that scene. Also, haven't you ever heard the 'Ben-Hur' story?"

"Um. What do you mean?"

"Basically, the screenwriters put in some gay subtext between Ben-Hur and Messalah to explain why they went from being such good friends to enemies. They told Stephen Boyd about it, but not Charleston Heston. However, Heston took the cues from Boyd and the scenes they're in can be read as them being former lovers. He did it not because he knew or agreed with it, but because he was an actor and as an actor has to play off what he's given."

"And you're saying it's the same here."

"Possibly. Maybe not. Maybe the two actors had talked about how to play it. But they're not laughing at us."

"How do you know?"

Alex shrugged. "Vincent D'Onofrio's never mentioned it in any of his letters. He hasn't even questioned our relationship, even though I did write that we were cell mates and friends now. He doesn't care."

Michael sighed. Sat on the bed. "I'm being too sensitive, huh?"

"Maybe a little. Randall and O'Connell are our friends, Michael. The only reason they're laughing is because it's funny to them to see our relationship so... accurately portrayed by people who have no clue."

His lips twitched. "It is kind of funny."

Alex put his arm around Michael. Kissed his neck. "I agree. Especially knowing how it all turns out."

Michael sighed. His mouth turned down. "Except it's not over yet." He sighed and leaned against Alex.

He hugged Michael and kissed him on the head. "Is that all that happened back there?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Michael sounded like he was half asleep.

"They were fighting. You looked panicked."

"Can't I just be embarrassed because of what I said?"

"Of course. Were you?"

Michael sighed. Turned his head to rest in the crook of Alex's neck. Felt like he was about to say something, when the door opened.

"Scofield," the guard said. "Your shrink's here."

He pulled away from Alex immediately. Climbed off the bed. "Okay, boss. Lead the way."

"Talk to him," Alex called after Michael's retreating form.

"Yes, Mom."

He rolled his eyes and lay back on the bed. If Michael wasn't ready to talk to him, that was fine, just so long as he talked to someone. The problem was, Alex didn't trust him to do what he needed.

He sighed. Dug his book out from underneath the bed and stretched out. Michael was volatile right now. He knew that. Anything could send him spiraling back into the depression that had him trapped. Alex just had to be patient.

He hated being patient when someone he loved was in pain.


	30. Chapter 30

"Hello, Michael. It's good to see you today," Dr. Juarez, his psychologist, greeted him as he settled.

Michael nodded. "Yeah. You too." Always the same start. Always the forced, artificial greeting. Like he had a choice of being there. Like Dr. Juarez even cared.

The art pad was already laid on the table. Open to a fresh page, pencil lying on top. Michael leaned over and picked it up, keeping his eyes focused on the page. He hated looking at Dr. Juarez, any psychologist, really. It'd always been a problem, ever since he was a kid. He didn't know why it was, he just knew it was. Luckily, this doctor didn't seem to mind, had even offered a solution. Something to do rather than make eye contact.

"What do you want to talk about today?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

Silence. Dr. Juarez always did this. Asked Michael what he wanted to talk about, and then waited until he started talking. Why couldn't he just pick a topic for once?

He bit his lip. Tried not to say anything. To force Dr. Juarez to start for once.

And then, the silence got to him. He sighed.

"Alex and I've been moved to protective segregation," Michael said. His pencil moved over the paper.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. After the riot. You know about the riot?"

"Yes, I do."

Michael nodded. "We got moved after that. Because the warden thought we'd be safer." He frowned at the paper. Bob, the guard T-Bag had killed in the riot Michael started, was taking shape and he didn't like it. He didn't want to go there.

"How do you like it there?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure. I think I like it. I don't know. It's hard to tell right now." He licked his lips. "It's quieter. Less shouting. Less anger. I'm so tired of everyone being angry. And despondent. Back in Gen pop, there's this air, you know? Desperation. I hate it."

"Do you feel less desperate now that you're in protective segregation?"

"Not really." He laughed bitterly and glanced up at Dr. Juarez. "It's been awful since the riot. I've been awful. I just can't... cheer up. Or be happy."

"How do you feel, if not happy?"

"Scared. Empty. Sad." He kept drawing.

"All the time?"

"Sort of. Mostly empty, you know? I'll be okay, and then something will just freak me out. Even where I am." He frowned. Shaded a dark trail of blood pouring from Bob's nose. "It was so stupid. I was in the rec room with Alex and O'Connell got in a stupid shouting argument with some other inmate. Over nothing. Well. Over the TV movie they made about my life, and I just... I got so freaked out. O'Connell's my friend, and I just wanted to run away. I did run away. And he wouldn't..."

"Sounds like you were afraid their argument would get physical. You didn't want to be there when it happened."

He shook his head.

"That's understandable. You've seen your fair share of violence. Of riots."

"Three."

"And each one of them, you've seen someone get badly hurt. Or killed."

It was hard to breathe. His nose tingled and his throat was tight. "Yeah. Maytag was in the first one. I don't even... I don't even know his real name. He thought I wanted protection from T-Bag. and he, uh. He, uh. Wanted me. Was going to throw Maytag over for me. And, uh, I had to go to their cell for a screw that they'd taken from me. We fought and then someone just... someone just stabbed him. Killed him right on top of me." His chin trembled. "Bob. Robert Hudson." He placed the half finished picture on the table. "My fault."

"Why?"

"T-Bag killed him because he found out about the plan. About the whole in the cell. If he hadn't been there..." A tear fell from his eye. Dropped onto the paper. "My fault."

Dr. Juarez picked the sketchpad up. Traced his eyes over the image of a man, beaten bloody. Abused. Threatened. Terrified. Killed. "All this. All this done because he knew?"

Michael shook his head. "He was caught. By T-Bag. Planned to rape him. Accidentally pushed him into my cell and... his plans changed." He pulled his legs to his chest. Pressed his forehead to his knees. "I tried to stop it. We all did. Sucre. Abruzzi. Linc. Tried to tell T-Bag... but he wouldn't. He wouldn't listen, kept insisting he was one of us. Doing it for the team." He turned his head to the side. Looked out the window to the yard.

Hot day. Muggy. The air was heavy. Shimmered.

"Simms tried to make me leave him. Told me to go, to run. To leave him. I couldn't. I didn't want to. And the warden was saying I put myself in danger because... I did what was right, right?"

"I think so. You saved that man's life."

"Doesn't excuse what came before." He wiped his nose on his jeans. "I had to."

"Of course you did. It's in your nature, isn't it? To help people."

He nodded. "I miss it, sometimes. Being able to work with people. Help people. I used to volunteer. All my holidays, I worked at soup kitchens. Drove Lisa crazy, because she liked showing me off. Genius, wealthy uncle of her genius kid. I was always late, or not there. We had to compromise, because she reminded me that she took care of me for so long. Fed me and stuff. So I had to go. I offered her Thanksgiving, but she insisted on Christmas. She liked taking me to church, with LJ. Wanted me at Easter, too. I did that, because sunrise service was easy, and I could do brunch and then find some place doing dinner." He sniffed and blotted his eyes. "I liked being around people who needed me. So I could stop thinking about myself."

"Is that the only reason? So you don't have to think about yourself?"

"I don't know. It's all selfish. Really." He wiped his nose on his jeans again. "Ricky tried to kill himself. Dr. Parsons asked me to talk to him. To make him feel better."

"How did that make you feel?"

"It was kind of... nice. I don't know if I did any good, but it kind of... made me feel like I was alive again. Just for a minute."

"Alive again?"

"I'm not really alive here. Not really. Not dead, exactly, just like... stasis or something."

"If that's the way you feel, then it's no wonder you're not happy. How long have you felt like this?"

"Since the riot. And..." Tears rose in his eyes again, choking him. "And the day before... the night before, I was happy. Alex and I had sex the night before. I... I just was watching him sleep and I love him so much and I wanted him. I couldn't... I didn't want him to touch me, but I wanted him and I kissed him all over and I loved doing that. And he was so happy the next day. *I* made him that happy. Me. And then it was ruined."

"Michael." A tissue was held under his nose.

Michael took the tissue. Wiped his nose and eyes. "I want to make him happy, but how can I do that when I'm not?"

"Is the only way to make him happy by having sex?"

"No. But I can barely be, you know. Happy when I'm around him. And then I freak out. Act stupid. Like with the movie. I just freaked out and ran. And he had to follow me, talk with me. Make sure I was okay. Calm me down."

"Why do you think he did that, Michael?"

Michael sniffed. Wiped his eyes again. "Because he didn't want me to freak out."

"Maybe because he cares about you. Loves you and wants to take care of you. You said he *had* to follow you. Are you sure he didn't *want* to?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. What does it matter?"

"Because that's still a relationship. That's what you do in one. Take care of the person you're in love with."

"But he shouldn't have to. And he does because we're cell mates. He probably feels like he has to."

"Has he said that? Has he indicated that he feels that way?"

Michael shook his head. "He's just trying to make me feel better. Reading to me. Giving me massages." He blushed at that.

"You can let him touch you now?"

"Somewhat. But, uh, he's just, I don't know. There."

"And you don't think he should have to be?"

"I don't know. I don't want him to feel like he has to, you know? I'm not worth it."

"We can't define our own worth, Michael. It's not up to us. You need to talk to Alex about it. About your relationship. Maybe ask him why he's with you. If he thinks your worth it and why."

He wiped his nose. "Maybe."

"You just got through telling me that you liked helping other people. Maybe Alex is the same way. But instead of helping people, he likes helping you." Dr. Juarez leaned forward. "Michael. Look at me."

Michael squeezed his eyes shut. Clenched his fists and raised his head. Looked at his doctor. "If it were him. If he'd been hurt like you were. If he were the one who was unhappy right now. Empty. Would you be there for him?"

"Yes."

"Would you be doing because you felt you had to, or because you love him."

He sighed. "Because I love him. But he's worth it."

"You've assigned the worth to him. Let him assign it to you. Don't devalue yourself, especially not to someone who values so very highly."

He rested his cheek on his knees again. Didn't say anything.

"Okay, Michael. I want to talk to you about maybe putting you on medication for awhile. How would you feel about that?"

He shrugged.

"I'm not jumping right into this. First, I'm going to have Dr. Parsons give you a physical, make sure there's nothing else going on. I also want you to keep careful track of your moods this week. Just little notes. If you feel hopeless. Suicidal. Empty. Calm. Happy. Whatever you feel, just make a note of it. Now, if you do feel like you want to kill or hurt yourself, I want you to have someone take you to the infirmary. Understand?"

"Yeah," Michael said, even though he knew it wouldn't come to that.

"I know prison is hard for you, Michael. And I know from your records that you've been on anti-depressants before. I think maybe it'll help you deal with things better with a little help."

"Okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'm really tired of feeling like this," he admitted.

"I don't blame you. You haven't had an easy time here. It's been hard."

"Yeah. Really hard."

"I hope your petition is approved, Michael. I really think it's time you got out of here. Really."

He propped his chin on his knees. Gave Dr. Juarez a weak smile. "Thanks, Doctor. I appreciate it."


	31. Chapter 31

Alex was surprised when a guard came to tell him he had a visitor. Besides his family, no one ever came to visit him. He'd never had many friends, and those he had, he'd alienated after killing Shales. So unless it was Pam or Lincoln, he had no idea who might be here to see him.

He changed his shirt before following the guard to the sensitive needs waiting room. Except he wasn't taken there. He was taken to a private room, reserved for lawyers and law enforcement. That narrowed the field somewhat.

David Wheeler was in the room when Alex was shown in. He stood and smiled. As always, he seemed somewhat nervous and incredibly awkward. In some ways, he reminded Alex of Michael: smart, cute, and somewhat out of step with the rest of the world. Only, strangely enough, Michael was actually better at blending in. Despite everything, he was just more comfortable in his skin than Wheeler was.

"David. Good to see you again." He didn't say that, despite their amicable parting, he never expected to se the other man again.

David shook his hand. "You too. I had time, so I thought I could, you know. Come see you."

"I appreciate it. Gets boring in here sometimes."

"I bet." David smoothed down his shirt as he sat down. "I heard about the riot. How are you?"

"Fine. I was a little bruised, but nothing too bad," he answered as he took a seat across from the other man.

David nodded. Hesitated. "And, uh. Michael?"

He shrugged. "About the same. Considerably more upset, though." He tapped his fingers on the table, wanting to talk. Wanting to unload all his worries, his fears about Michael to someone, anyone. He'd been talking to Pam nonstop since the riot, almost every night. That didn't take the worry away. Nothing would.

He held his tongue. David didn't care about Michael's personal angst. And Michael wouldn't appreciate Alex sharing it with a stranger. Even a stranger who had studied Michael's profile as intently as any doctor.

"Oh. I, uh. Brought you something. You and Michael because I figured.... Um. Here." He handed Alex a bag.

"Thanks, David." He pulled out the contents. There were three Sudoku books, a puzzle book, and _1776_ by David McCullough. "Wow. Thank you. I appreciate this." Alex looked up at the other man. Smiled. "Thanks."

David shrugged. "It wasn't anything. I just went to the bookstore. You know. Saw those and thought how you were always doing those. And you might be bored or whatever."

"It's great. Really."

"Well, uh. You're welcome." He cleared his throat. Looked down at his hands.

Alex put the books back into the bag. Set it by his feet. "So, David. What brings you here?" Because he didn't come just to give Alex puzzles.

He cleared his throat. Adjusted his glasses. Looked up and met Alex's gaze. "You Oscar Shales. Buried him in your backyard."

Apparently, he was here to reminisce. "I did."

"Why?"

He let out a long, slow breath. "The case got to me. I thought I was fine. Holding it together. Ever notice how much his last victim looked like Pam?" he asked. "Dark hair, dark eyes. Six months pregnant." He swallowed. "Pam and I were trying again. Always wanted two kids. Might happen for her now. Not me. But that's..." He shook his head and waved it away. "He knew it too. About my wife. What she looked like. He killed her to taunt me. And then he did taunt me when I caught up with him. I didn't go after him, not intentionally. I was just... in his head. Trying to anticipate where he would have gone. And there he was."

"Where?"

"Some bar in Peoria. He caught me in the bathroom. We fought. He knocked me out. When I woke up, he was gone and had taken a picture of Pam from my wallet. Which he still had when I got back to my hotel room and found him on my bed. We fought again. I pinned him to the wall. He kept talking. Wouldn't shut the fuck up. Kept talking about all the women he'd killed. Them and their unborn children. How he looked forward to doing Pam once I got her knocked up. That he was sad he hadn't known me when she was pregnant with Cameron. And he was saying more, I don't know. I just snapped. Shot him, through the head." Alex shrugged. There wasn't much more to say.

David looked down at the table. Ran his fingers over the chipped plastic. "How do you feel about it?"

"What kind of question is that?" he asked harshly.

"A valid one."

His gut churned. "I'm not sorry the bastard's dead. He was an animal. He needed to be put down." Alex's brow knotted. He clenched his fist. "Do I wish it had happened differently? Yes. I always have, from the moment I pulled that trigger, I wanted nothing more. Am I sorry?" He shrugged. "Honestly? I don't know."

"What about the others? Abruzzi and the kid?"

"Those I regret. Especially Apolskis. He was just a kid. Innocent, even for a crook. You know the last thing he did was trick me so he could go visit some girl?" Alex smiled, bitterness filling him. "Some girl he met and crushed on. Said he was going to write her every day. Cute girl, too. Too good for him, but..." He shook his head. "A waste. Just like everything the Company did. Waste." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I regret what I did to Shales only because it went against what I tried so hard to believe in. In truth and honor and justice. In my country. In that moment of weakness, I threw it all over. Became no better than..." He bit off what he was going to say and finished with, "the Company." He looked up at David. "I'm sorry I failed you. But I'm proud of you, what you did. Investigating me, my misdeeds. That takes a strong man, David. A good man. And I wish I could have been more like you."

David looked at him for a long time. Always so serious anyway, he looked to be studying Alex for an exam. Trying to memorize him. Quantify and classify. For what, though, Alex didn't know.

"Okay." David nodded. "That's all I wanted to know."

"For what?" Angry now. For having to go through that. For still not being over it. For his former protégée, unofficial that he may have been, rubbing it all back in Alex's face. "So you could rest easy, knowing that you've put a criminal in prison? There was never any doubt of that, David. I could have told you that without you ever needing to come."

He shook his head, eyes widening. "No. Alex, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean... The warden contacted me. About you. He asked if I would be wiling to write a letter on your behalf. To help get you out of here." He adjusted is glasses again. "I always looked up to you. You were... And when I realized that you were corrupt, or suspected, I was hurt. Took it personally."

"You still offered to help me," Alex said, looking away.

"When I realized you were in trouble, yeah. Of course. You were, well. Not my friend, but I wanted to help. I just wasn't sure I could help put you back out there."

"Have I satisfied your fear that I'll be a danger to society if put back on the streets, or are you still afraid I'll go on a killing spree?"

"That wasn't my fear, Alex," David said, his voice soft. "I just needed to know why you did. Why you really did it, I mean. Shales and the others. And how you felt about it."

"And?"

"And now I know." He shrugged. "It's pretty much what I thought. And, well. I only hope my support makes a difference. If not to the president, then at least to you."

Alex wanted to fucking pound David Fucking Wheeler into the ground. How dare that sanctimonious sack of shit act like Alex needed his support. His forgiveness. And make Alex jump through hoops in order to earn it.

His jaw clenched. "You know. You could have saved yourself a whole lot of trouble. Now? You can shove your support and letter up your ass."

"See? I _knew_ you'd be like this!" David exclaimed. "Get offended, like I have no right. You were my Goddamn mentor, Alex. I idolized you, okay? You were fucking fantastic. Brilliant and intense. You could think circles around anyone you met, and I was basically convinced that you, I don't know. Hung the moon. Wrote the book, whatever. And you know what happens when you lose faith in something. It hits you hard. Colors everything." He shrugged. "I got bit once, Alex. Excuse me for being cautious about this."

He knew what David was saying was logical. Made sense, he'd want to make sure that Alex was penitent. Or at least aware of what he'd done was wrong.

Didn't stop it from being smug and condescending in Alex's eyes. Didn't take the sting away.

He stood. "Don't bother," he said, walking to the door. "I wouldn't want disappoint the great and mighty David Wheeler."

"Please," David said, rolling his eyes. "Now you're just being irrational."

"Go fuck yourself."

The door opened and the guard came in. "You done?"

"Yeah," Alex said. "We're done."

"Alex, don't do this. Just calm down, please. I'm just..."

Alex stormed out ahead of the guard.

"Yo, Alex, wait up or I might have to taser you."

He stopped, arms crossed across his chest.

The guard caught up. "What was that? Thought he was your friend."

"Please. He's someone I once worked with. He put me away for my crimes against the government."

"Didn't you turn yourself in?"

"He was on my tail. A good agent."

"So what was that about?"

His heart was slowing to its normal pace. The roaring in his ears faded. His limbs trembled as the adrenaline that had coursed through him bled away. "I don't know," he admitted. "He just set me off. Wasn't his fault."

The guard cocked his head back. "I think he's still there."

"You know, the guards here are worse meddlers than little old ladies in nursing homes."

He grinned widely. "For that past three months, I've been running the psych-infirmary-special needs wings. I'm bored outta my mind. Meddling's all I got."

Alex rolled his eyes. After taking a deep breath, he strode back to the visiting room. Opened the door and stuck his head inside.

David was still there, talking on his cell phone. The bag he'd brought was on the table in front of him.

He went in and picked up the bag.

"I'll call you back," David said. He hung up the phone. "Alex..."

"Don't," he said sharply. "I'm sorry. I was... I don't know what's wrong. Everything's wrong. And I wasn't thinking clearly."

"It's okay, Alex. I didn't mean for it to come off like I'm doing you a favor, or acting like your judge. I just needed to know, that's all."

"I understand." He shrugged. A smile flitted across his face. "I would do the same."

David pushed himself to his feet. "You're too thin. And you look tired."

"Thanks mother. I'll keep that in mind."

"I'm just worried."

"It's been a bad few weeks. I am tired. All my focus and energy right now are on Michael. And it's hard in here to find room to take time for oneself. It's the nature of the beast."

"It'll get better. Either you'll get out or it'll get better."

"Yeah, sure." He sighed. Rubbed his eyes wearily. "I hope so."

* * *

Michael had forgotten how pretty Travis was. Not handsome, like Ricky, or flat out gorgeous like Alex, but pretty pretty. Like a male model or something. Long, curly blond eyelashes and freckles on his perfect nose. Soft full pink lips and a fantastic physique. He'd been working out.

Worst of all, was how full of energy and life he was. Happy and smiling and joking and just generally making everyone laugh and warm to him.

Michael hated him.

When he'd gotten back from his shrink, Alex had been gone. Randall and O'Connell hadn't seen him since Michael had cut and run earlier. And he didn't wan to ask the guards, because he wasn't sure of them. So, he was sitting in the common room, curled in a far corner, pretending to read while really keeping an eye on Travis.

He hated Travis.

Without having read one word on the page, Michael turned the page of his book. Narrowed his eyes and glared at Travis the Beautiful.

"And then," Travis said, laughing so hard he could barely speak. "Then the orderly walks in and just, you know. Stops. Dead. And me and Bruce were just standing there and there's honey all over the floor, right? And then Bruce just, *freaks* the fuck out and drops the peanut butter."

"No," Randall laughed.

"He did. And it's that all natural stuff that only comes glass jars, so it shatters. All over my pants and shoes and Bruce's and the orderly just... just turns bright red. I swear to God, I thought his head was gonna explode."

"And they didn't throw you in the SHU or anything?" asked O'Connell.

Travis shook his pretty head, stupid pretty blonde curls waving gently as he did. "Naw, they don't do stuff like that in the nut bin. They just made us clean it up, which was fine, since Bruce and me had a shitload of chocolate. We had a feast."

Michael scowl. Turned the page again.

"Hey, anyone see... Travis!" Without so much glancing at him, Alex strode into the kitchen and made a beeline to Travis.

"Alex! I've been waiting for you, man. Where you been?" Travis bounded out of his seat and straight into Alex's arms. He wrapped himself around Alex like a fucking octopus. Squeezed far tighter and far longer than he needed.

Michael's hands clenched. The cover of his book twisted. Tore at the binding.

"What are you doing here, kid?" Alex extricated himself from Travis's grasp. Mussed his hair.

"I had this, like, break through in therapy a few weeks ago. My shrink thinks I'm good to leave the safety and security of the nut bin, so he sent me back here. Said I'm good for sensitive needs. And here I am." He grinned. Gave Alex a slow once over. "You look really good, Alex." His voice had lowered a notch.

The little prick was gay. And hitting on his boyfriend. While being pretty.

"Thanks. I've heard otherwise today, but it's always good to hear." He clapped Travis on the arm and stepped back.

Travis followed. "Who'd say that? I mean it, Alex, you look good. Seriously, man." And he gave Alex the once over again.

Alex's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Oh. Well. Thank you." He gave Travis a strained smile. "Do you guys know where Michael is?"

Randall cleared his throat. Nodded to Michael in the corner.

Alex turned. "Hey. I've been looking for you."

"I've been right here."

"You okay?"

"Just peachy. Where were you?"

"David came to see me. He brought... stuff."

Michael raised his eyebrow.

"Puzzle books and stuff. Want to see it?"

He shrugged. "Whatever. Sure." He closed his book. Rose and followed Alex out of the room.

"How was your session?" Alex asked. He slipped his hand into Michael's.

Reflexively, Michael started to pull away. Then he realized that if he did that now, he might lose Alex to pretty Travis. So, instead, he tightened his grip. Hung on. "Okay. I don't know. We talked about riots."

"Fun."

"Oh, yeah. Very fun." He sighed. "Anyway. He thinks maybe I should go on anti-depressants or something." He pushed the door to their cell open.

"Oh."

Michael turned to look at Alex. "What?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. Just... Oh." Alex ran his hand over his hair and sat on the bed. "I'm doing it. On medication. It's not so bad."

Michael sat next to him. "I was one stuff before. I need a physical and stuff first. He wants me to keep like a journal this week." He licked his lips. "Are you disappointed?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm turning into a junkie. Like my brother."

Alex snorted. He put his arms around Michael and pulled him down to the bed with him. "When I said I didn't want you doing drugs, this wasn't what I meant. This is fine." He kissed Michael once, twice on the lips, mouth soft and gentle against Michael's own. "Are you disappointed?

Michael shrugged. "I did so good for so long. Off medication. Focused. Happy. Even when I got here, I was happy. So happy to be with you." His hand clenched in Alex's shirt. "I hate him so much."

"I know."

"No, you don't." His throat closed, making it hard to speak. "I *hate* him. What he did. to me. Why? I just..." He squeezed his eyes shut. A sob tore from his throat. Painful. Deep. And they just kept coming. More and more, deeper and deeper.

Alex pulled Michael against his chest. Stroked his back. Kissed his temple, his hair. "I'm sorry, Michael. I'm so sorry."

He couldn't stop crying. But it wasn't just crying. Crying didn't hurt like this. Crying didn't feel like his insides were trying to force their way out through his mouth. It wasn't deep. Painful. This felt like he was dying.

He cried for a long time. It felt like forever. And the whole time, Alex just lay there, stroking his hair. Rubbing his back. Making soothing sounds and holding him. Keeping him safe.

Finally, finally the painful sobs abated. Tears still flowed down Michael's cheeks, but they were silent. Peaceful.

"I need to start, you know. Going to the fitness room or something," Michael said, voice hoarse. "Hit things."

"Sounds good." He kissed the top of Michael's head. "Maybe we should anyway. Get the endorphins working."

He snorted. "Yeah." Sniffing, he wiped his nose against Alex's shirt. "Maybe I'll tone up, too. Look more like Travis. Pretty, pretty Travis."

"Are you threatened by Travis?" He twined his fingers in Michael's hair. Tugged.

"Maybe."

"He's just a kid."

"A pretty kid."

"He might be pretty. You're beautiful. And you're mine." He tugged Michael's head back. Kissed him, long and thorough. "I'll keep you."

"Bad mood and flabby stomach and all?"

He laughed and kissed Michael again. "For better and for worse, Michael. Sickness and health. And all that other stuff."

That brought laughter from Michael, heavily colored by relief. Embarrassment. "I'm being silly, huh?"

"No more silly than I've been over Ricky. Especially since Travis and I have a past." He stroked the side of Michael's face. "He's a kid. Someone who was hurt. Someone I had to help. And he has a sort of hero worship towards me. I could never take advantage of that, even if I was remotely interested. Which I'm not."

"He is."

"Yeah, I noticed that." He snorted thoughtfully. "Didn't realize he was gay."

"Maybe that's what his breakthrough was." Michael sighed. Pressed his face into Alex's neck. "I could use a breakthrough around now."

Another kiss was placed on top of his head. "It doesn't help that you're bored. Not that there's much to do around here." He stroked Michael's arm. "Limited society. The same thing day after day. It sucks."

"It does suck." He wiped his eyes on Alex's shirt. "What did David want?"

"Warden asked if he'd be willing to write something on my behalf. He just wanted to see if I was the kind of person he was willing to do that for."

"Are you?"

"After I removed my foot from my mouth, I think I proved to be."

Michael laughed. Kissed Alex's jaw. "That's good. You'll have to introduce me to him when we get out of here. He seems like a good guy."

"He is an excellent man. And excellent agent. I've always been sorry I let him down." He nipped Michael's ear. "Michael. When we get out, will you marry me?"

Michael froze. His stomach nose-dived. Head spun.

He pushed himself up. "What?"

Alex sat up, too, and took Michael's hands in his. "Will you marry me?"

"We can't. I mean...."

"Screw the whole legal thing, okay Michael? This is about you and me. I love you. Now and forever. Marry me."

Still shocked, still frozen, Michael was unable to do anything but nod inanely.

A slow, lopsided grin spread over Alex's face. "Really?"

"Yeah. Yeah, really." He practically fell onto Alex, kissing him, arms wrapped around him tightly. "I'll marry you, Alex. "

Alex kissed him back. His thumb rubbed against Michael's cheek, wiping away a tear. This time, though, the tear hadn't been shed in sorrow.


	32. Chapter 32

"LJ," Michael said, rushing through the sparsely populated special needs visiting room to his red-eyed, tear stained nephew was.

LJ pushed himself out of his seat and practically propelled himself into Michael's arms.

Michael hugged him close. "Hey, kid. What's wrong?"

His shoulders were shaking. Face pressed into Michael's neck.

"Shhh," Michael soothed. He rubbed LJ's back. Rocked him softly. "It's okay. It's okay, LJ What's going on? Did you get into a fight with Lincoln again?"

"One of my friends killed himself."

"What?"

"Ryan. He killed himself. We found out today. He did it last night." L.J. pulled away. Wiped his face. "He sent us all an e-mail, but I didn't check it until this morning. And then, I thought, it's gotta be a joke, right? Who would do something like that? Send an e-mail saying that you were going to kill yourself. It must be a joke. But then I get to camp, right? And Mr. Sommers says we're not going to have class today, because Ryan killed himself. And he wanted to talk about it, and I... after we were done, I just came here. I just..." He sniffed and wiped his nose on his shirt. "He's dead, Uncle Mike. He just killed himself."

"I'm so sorry, LJ" Michael put his hand on LJ's cheek. Wiped some of the tears away. "Let's sit down." He led L.J. out to the small yard, knowing that they needed some privacy. That was a really nice thing about Protective Segregation. There was a little outside area with grass and trees attached to it. You could have a picnic out there, or just lounge in the sun.

Today, though, it was too hot. It was empty outside. They found a seat underneath a tree on the grass. LJ rested his head against Michael's shoulder, still sniffing and shaking.

"Okay," Michael said, slipping his arm around LJ. "Start from the beginning. Who's Ryan?"

He let out a shaky breath. "He was a kid at my school. In drama camp with me. We were sorta friends. Not all that great, but enough, you know? We did this great scene together last week. Completely fantastic, right?" He sniffed. "He was gay. I didn't know. No one knew. He said in his letter that he came out to his parents last week. That his dad freaked and wouldn't talk to him. His mom was talking about sending him away somewhere. Somewhere wholesome and all that bullshit. He said he wasn't going to live like that, so he killed himself."

"Poor kid."

LJ nodded. "I should have been a better friend. I should have been there for him. So he didn't feel alone. But I wasn't. And now he's dead."

"People don't kill themselves because they're upset, LJ. Or because their dad's won't talk to them. They do it because they've got this... darkness in them that just overwhelms them. They can't deal with it anymore. So they do something drastic."

"But he said. He said it was because of that."

"Maybe it was the last straw. But it wasn't the only reason."

"But he was happy before. Funny. God, we did this improve, Uncle Mike. And he was so brilliant, you know? Just... We were office workers and everything was going wrong. Only, funny, like 'Airplane,' or something. So we're running around like chickens with our heads cut off, only screaming all loudly, right? And I finally scream, 'Just do something, all right?' and he's like, 'What?' So I go, 'I don't know. Anything.' So he grabs me and kisses me. And everyone starts cracking up and I just stand there, tying not to laugh. And the only thing I can think to say is, 'No, something useful.' So he gets this smirk on his face and drops to his knees like he's going to, you know. And I lose it, and Mr. Sommers calls scene and it was great." LJ sniffed. "What if he had a crush on me or something? And that was his way of telling me?"

"You were doing a scene. And it was funny. You couldn't have known. Did you even hang out with him?"

LJ shook his head. "Not really. Not alone. Just in a group. But I should have..."

"No, LJ. You didn't know. He didn't reach out for you. To you. You said he sent an e-mail. Was it all to you, or to everyone in drama?"

"Everyone."

Michael stroked his hair. "So it wasn't just you. And while it'd be nice if you'd been able to help it wasn't your fault. It wasn't."

"I guess." He sniffed. "It just sucks. Why would someone do that?"

"Like I said. The darkness gets to be too much." He knocked his head against LJ's gently. "I tried once. A few months after you were born. I'd just started high school, and it was a new school with new kids, since Lincoln, Lisa and I moved to a new place. It was all very hard. You crying all the time. I was alienated at school. Shy. Awkward. I had two teachers who were complete slobs and I wasn't learning anything because I kept getting distracted by all the stuff. I was depressed. Lincoln was stressed. Lisa didn't have time for me. And I just.... I lost myself. Wasn't able to cope. So. I bought some sleeping pills and overdosed."

"What happened?"

"Your mom found me a few minutes after I'd done it. She dragged me to the bathroom and forced me to throw up before calling an ambulance. I was in the hospital for almost a month. Lincoln almost lost custody, but Lisa fought hard to keep me. Said that it'd be more damaging for me to be separated." Michael rubbed his nose. "She was really great. She did so much for me, you know?"

"I miss her," LJ sighed.

"I know you do." He rested his head against LJ's. "I do, too." He sighed, then cleared his throat. "My point, though, is that people don't kill themselves over one incident. Maybe there's a straw, but there's usually something deeper going on. And it's easy to fake being okay. No one knew I was so messed up until Lisa found me. I was too busy pretending that I was fine. Maybe that's what Ryan was doing."

"Yeah." LJ sniffed. "I just can't believe he's gone. I mean, yesterday, he was at camp and he was fine. And he knew he was going to go home and kill himself." He pulled away and looked at Michael. "You won't do it again, right? I mean, you're not just going to kill yourself, are you?"

"LJ, no. No, I'm not. I promise."

"But you've been depressed lately. Sad. Are you sure..."

He pulled LJ to him and hugged him tightly. "I'm not going to kill myself. I'm not going anywhere. I might be depressed, but I know I've got too much to live for to give it all up. I might want to just, you know, go into a coma and sleep for a few months or years, but I don't want to die."

"There are days I want to just sleep forever. Or months or whatever." He rubbed his head against Michael's shoulder. "When Dad was found guilty, I sorta felt like that. And when you went to prison, I just wanted to... to crawl into bed and disappear."

Michael squeezed LJ to him tightly. "I'm sorry, buddy."

"No, it's okay. I mean, you got Dad free." LJ sniffed. "God. I can't believe a friend of mine is dead. It's, like, weird. Everything has just been going so smooth. Even you, except for being depressed. You're safe now, sorta. And you're still with Alex, which Dad was worried about after the first attack. He was afraid if they separated the two of you, it'd be bad, but now you're together in protective segregation, so that's good. Right?"

"Yeah, it is. Of course, now his ex-cellmate is with us. And he's extremely pretty. And keeps hitting on Alex."

"So? Alex loves you."

Michael shrugged, uncomfortable. His stomach was tight. Turning circles. "Yeah, I know." He licked his lips. "He asked me to marry him"

"Really? Alex did?"

"Yeah."

LJ pulled away. A grin split his face. "You said yes, right?"

He blushed. Ducked his head. "Yeah, of course. I mean, I love him. I want to spend the rest of my life with him. There was never any question."

"But you're worried about his cellmate? What's his name? Trevor or something?"

"Travis."

"Right. You're worried about Travis?"

Michael shrugged. "He and Alex have a history. And Travis is so... stunning. He should be a model or something."

LJ's face grew somber. He ran a hand through his hair. "But, I mean. Are you seriously worried about Alex? Do you think he'd want to leave you for Travis?"

"No. Not at all." And as sure as he said it, he knew it was true. Because this wasn't about Alex or his love. Or Michael really, truly being afraid that Alex would leave him. Because he wouldn't. Ever. He had no doubt of that.

"So. Who cares if Travis is pretty? You're, like, the best looking man I've ever seen. Cameron keeps drawing pictures of you, just, like, a head with two big eyes. You and Alex, holding hands. And Travis could be an angel, and Alex wouldn't ever notice. He only has eyes for you."

"I know. I know that. It's just that he..." Michael's voice caught in his throat. His eyes stung. "Travis went to the psych ward because he was so messed up. He was there almost as long as I've been here. And when I was there, he was all messed up. Quiet and unsure. When we had group therapy, he just... got choked up and teary or angry. He was a mess. And now he's had a breakthrough." Michael rolled his eyes. "He's made some kind of peace with himself and everything that's happened, and I... I'm falling apart."

"No, you're not."

Michael nodded. "Yes I am. They're going to put me on anti-depressants. I can't even feel happy. I'm sad or down or angry or blue or I'm just... flat." He sighed and rubbed his face. "There's not up and down. Just down and... not."

LJ moved closer to Michael. Put his arm around him. Lightly knocked his head against Michael's. "It'll get better."

"I know."

"No, seriously. It will. You're getting married. That's so totally cool. Are you going to like go to Canada or something?"

Michael laughed. "Don't know if I can. I'm a felon, remember? Unless I get a pardon. I'm not sure how the commutation of service works, but I'm not going to get it."

LJ rolled his eyes. "You so are. You don't belong here, and everyone knows it. Even the president. So, yeah. You're getting out."

"Optimism if for the young."

"Yeah, yeah. You're an old man, whatever." He grinned. "Have you told Dad yet?"

"Not yet. We're going to when you guys next come to visit." He frowned suddenly. "Hey. How did you get here? You're underage."

"Yeah, I know. I took the bus and the guard knew me. He called the warden to see if it'd be okay, 'cause I was so upset. The warden didn't see the harm, because he knows Dad won't mind I guess."

"So Lincoln doesn't even know you're here?"

LJ ducked. Shook his head.

Michael sighed. "Kid, I can't you home you know. It's not like the old days."

"I needed to see you. Talk to you."

He put his hand on LJ's knee. "You're going to have to learn to talk to your father one day. To confide in him, instead of either bottling it up or running to me. I'm in prison."

"But Dad's so... Dad. You know what he's like. He's hard to talk to."

"But he cares. He loves you. And he will listen if you make him."

LJ rolled his eyes.

"Okay. If not Linc, then what about Pam?"

He sighed. "I just wanted to see you."

"I know. And I'm glad you're here. Because I guess I needed to talk to you, too."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'm feeling better. Seeing clearer. About me and Alex and... what's going on with me. So, thanks."

"You're welcome." LJ grinned.

Michael returned the smile. Then shoved his nephew. "Now. Go call your Dad and tell him where you are."

LJ climbed to his feet. Hesitated. "Wait. If I go out to the hall, I'll be able to come back, right?"

"Yeah. Visiting hours aren't over yet."

"Okay." He hesitated still. "And you'll still be here?"

He smiled. "Yes, LJ. I'll always be here. Now, go."

"Yeah, okay. He took a few steps away, then turned back. "Thanks, Uncle Mike. I feel better. About. You know."

"I'm glad. Me too."


	33. Chapter 33

"You awake?" Michael whispered in the darkness of the cell.

Alex sighed. Rolled onto his back and looked up at the mattress above him. They'd been taken to their permanent cell in protective segregation after dinner. Away from their conjugal room with two cots they could push together and into a regular cell with bunk beds. And, for some strange reason, Michael seemed to think that meant they needed to sleep in separate beds.

Which meant Alex couldn't sleep. Not without Michael pressed up next to him, face against his neck or on his chest or against his arm. Not without feeling Michael's cold feet (even in the summer) pressed between Alex's own, seeking warmth. And his hands, the way he kneaded Alex's hips or arms or stomach or....

"Yeah, I'm awake," he answered. "I can't sleep."

"Me neither."

"Then come down here."

The springs squeaked and a moment later, a boxer-clad, shirtless Michael--Alex's favorite kind--joined him in bed.

Alex pulled Michael too him right away and claimed his mouth for a kiss. "Why were you up there anyway?" he whispered, running his fingers over Michael's face.

Michael averted his eyes. "I'm so used to being closed in. A door instead of bars."

"No one's watching."

"I know. I just. I don't know." He licked his lips.

Alex pressed his against Michael's again. Flicked his tongue inside against Michael's. Stroked.

Michael shuddered underneath him. Pushed him away.

"What is it?"

"I'm not jealous of Travis," he said in a rush.

Alex blinked. Traced his finger around the shell of Michael's ear. "What?"

A blush glowed on Michael's cheek in the faint light. "I mean, I don't think you're going to leave me for Travis. That's not why I'm jealous of him."

"You just said you weren't jealous."

"I am. Just not how I thought yesterday. Because he's gay and beautiful and has a history with you. But I don't think you'll leave me."

He hesitated, stroking Michael's cheek with his thumb.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said, deciding not to voice his thought. He was pretty sure Michael was going to spend the rest of their lives with a part of him waiting for Alex to leave. He had such a history of being abandoned, such deep loneliness in him, such well entrenched and, in some cases, well founded fears, that it'd take a long time and a lot of work for those fears to go away. And, even after all that work, they may not. Michael would probably always feel as if one day he'd wake up all alone.

"You sure?" Michael had one eyebrow raised. Skepticism colored his voice.

No hiding, no secrets. No damaging secrets, that is. Alex had met with his counselor today--one on one, rather than the group session on anger management--they'd discussed Michael's sudden and unexpected jealousy over Travis. His counselor--Davis--had suggested that what Michael needed now was to feel he could trust Alex. And to know that, whatever fear and insecurity Michael threw at him, Alex could accept it and help Michael see he was safe.

So. "I just am... I kind of think that, deep down, or not so deep down maybe, you are a little. Afraid, I mean. That I'll leave, I mean."

Michael frowned. Shook his head. "I'm not. I know you'll stay. I don't think Travis is a threat, I swear."

"I know. I believe you. On that I do. Travis isn't a threat. Never has been, never would be. And I think that, now that the shock of him being back has faded, you're seeing that. But that doesn't mean you're not afraid I might leave you."

"I trust you," Michael whispered. His voice quavered.

Alex kissed his forehead. "I know."

Michael panted. His arms came around Alex. Fingers dug into his shoulders. Feet hooked around Alex's ankles and he clung. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"I should trust you better. Know you better."

"I'm working against over thirty-two years of experiences, Michael. I understand."

"No. You don't."

Alex dug his fingers into Michael's neck. "My father abused my brother and me. Physical. Mental. I grew up feeling worthless. Assuming people saw in my what my father did. I would wait for them to attack me. Degrade me. Leave me. So I understand what it's like to have that kernel of fear, of absolute certainty that your future will never, ever live up to the hope that the present is building."

Michael blinked rapidly. A few tears spilled out of his eyes. Alex kissed them away.

"Why are you jealous?" Alex asked. He kissed Michael's right eye. Then his left.

"He's so happy."

Alex kissed Michael's forehead. "It'll happen for you. Believe me."

"It's better here," Michael said. His eyes were still closed, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. "Less chaotic. Slower, but in a good way. We're not herded like cattle everywhere. Scheduled. Trapped by the routine. They kind of just let us be. I like that."

"It's a little less like we're in prison, isn't it?"

Michael mouth quirked up at the corner. "A bit," he said, opening his eyes. "Not enough. But some." He took a deep breath. "It'll be better when we go home."

Alex's stomach tightened. His body heat all over, sweat breaking out at the small of his back. "Do you believe we'll get there?"

"I have to. Because it's too tiring not to." He smiled wryly. "Being hopeless takes a lot of energy."

"And this after only one day of exercise."

Michael laughed. "Endorphins really do work." He snuggled against Alex, eyes falling shut again. "I'm sorry for how I've been."

"Depressed?"

"Yeah."

"Don't be. Happens to the best of us." Alex tightened his arms around Michael. Kissed the top of his head. "Besides. I'm here for you. One day, you'll be there for me. Give and take."

"I love you."

"Yeah, Michael. Me too."

* * *

The truly perverse thing about Travis and his beauty was that it inspired Michael. He inspired Michael. Sort of. Not the person. When Michael had arrived at the studio today, all he could think about was LJ's friend, Ryan. And the pain and loneliness he must have felt. The confusion that drove him to such an extreme act. Michael wanted to capture that. Memorialize it. Purge his own demons through it.

But he didn't know what Ryan looked like. And Travis's face loomed in Michael's mind. And his was the face that took form on the canvas. His profile and bright eyes. The soft curve of his mouth. The long arch of his neck. The long-fingered, graceful fingers.

A few minutes after Michael started laying out the pictures, he realized that it wasn't going to be right. In his mind, he saw it huge. Larger than life. All he had was a mediumish canvas and it wasn't right. But it was all he had for now; he'd asked Abigail for something bigger later. For now, he compensated by crowding the picture in, making it huge, so Ryan/Travis looked as though he were about to burst from the frame.

Michael drew him as an angel. He was in profile, sitting on the edge of a bathtub, legs on either side of the porcelain. He wore jeans, torn at the knee, ratted at the ankle. Feet bare. He was shirtless, wings huge, but drawn tightly to his back. His hair fell over his forehead, neck arched forward as he looked down at his hands. In his left hand glinted a razor blade, mere inches from the delicate skin on his right wrist. His right hand hung, limp, fingers curled inward.

The look on his face was almost serene. Almost, safe for the blankness of his eyes. The slight tension in his lips. The tear clinging to his lower lashes.

His shoulders were hunched. He looked in motion, as if any minute...

"Hey, Blueprints."

Michael started. Turned quickly, concentration broken. When he'd heard the knob turn seconds before, he'd assumed it was a guard or Abigail, come to check on him. What he hadn't been expecting was Paul Rossi, whom Michael had not seen in over a month.

He wasn't supposed to be here. Protective segregation and Gen Pop were separated. Kept apart on purpose. They didn't even have classes together. Meals. Anything. No contact.

Paul shouldn't be here.

Michael swallowed. "Paul. Hi," he said cautiously.

"I bribed a guard," said Paul, answering Michael's unasked question. "I needed to see you."

"Why?"

Paul's eyes were intense as he approached Michael. "I heard that back at Fox River, you broke into the nut house. I wanna know how."

"You mean the night of the breakout? We bleached out uniforms and..."

"No. I mean before that. I heard you pretended you was crazy and got thrown in."

"Oh." Michael's frown deepened. "Right. I did."

"Tell me how. I'm gonna do it."

"It's not that simple."

"I'll pay. Whatever. I'm good."

He shook his head. "It's not about money. These people are professionals. You can't just say your sick or insane and..."

"You think I'm stupid? I know it's not as easy as all that." Paul came closer. Too close. Shoved Michael back a few steps. "You tell me how you did it. Teach me to fake sick. Help me trick them."

"Why?"

Paul shrugged. "Ricky needs me."

He blinked. For some reason, he hadn't been expecting that. Not that he'd known what he's expected, but.... "Um. Okay."

"What?"

"Nothing." Michael shrugged. "It's just, I didn't expect it, I guess. Doesn't seem like something you'd do."

"So, you're allowed to get yourself thrown into jail for someone important to you, but I can't do something for someone important to me?"

Michael shook his head, heart in his throat. "No. I mean, yes. I guess you can."

"Ricky's a special guy. I'm supposed to take care of him in here, and I ain't doing such a good job. I mean, he's not even supposed to be here, you know? Ricky's smart. Real smart. He was going places. Space and college and doctorates and all that. It's that prick of a brother he got saddled with that ended him up in here. So, when he shows up, I get a visit from my dad telling me I better make sure nothing happens to him while he's in here. Ricky. No one cared about Nicky. Everyone figured he'd be fine anyway." Paul shrugged. "But what I didn't know what the one person I had to protect Ricky from was his own flesh and blood. I let him down. Now, he's in the nut house, so that's where I gotta be."

"But... he's safe there. They're probably got him where I was. Away from anyone dangerous, his own room. Safe."

Paul shook his head. "Don't matter. He's not with family. I need to be there." He raised an eyebrow. "You telling me that if you got thrown back in there for good, FBI wouldn't be acting like a nut to be thrown in there for you?"

He was probably right. Being separated for a month had been hard enough. Being separated indefinitely would be murder. Alex would definitely try something.

Which begged the question. "Are you in love with Ricky?"

Paul backhanded Michael so hard that he stumbled back and knocked into his easel. While Michael tried to regain his balance, Paul grabbed him by the shirt and backed him into the wall.

"I ain't no faggot. Got that?" he gritted out through clenched teeth.

Michael fought for air. Nodded. "Got it." The side of his face throbbed.

"I don't care what Ricky does. And you 'n FBI can fuck each other all you want. Don't concern me. But I ain't queer."

He was having a hard time staying upright. If it wasn't for Paul holding him, Michael was pretty sure he'd fall. "Okay." His palms were slick. They slipped against the smooth concrete wall.

Paul let Michael go. Michael leaned hard into the wall so he didn't collapse.

"I don't know how to help you," Michael said. His voice only shook a little. "I have this thing. This trick I can do. I trap myself in my head. Let myself get overwhelmed with everything and then shut down. I don't know how to teach you to do that."

"I just gotta make it look real, right? It doesn't have to be real, just look it."

He let out a shaky breath. "Uh. Okay. Um. You need to, like, act like everything is getting to you. Cover your ears, avoid eye contact. Like your dizzy. Then, when you're in your cell, hurt yourself. Over and over. Like, bang your head in the wall. I punched it. The skin on my knuckles broke, and I sort of spread the blood around. And then, you just collapse. Stare into the distance, but not like you're looking at anything. Keep your eyes unfocused. And don't respond to anything, no matter what they do or say. Just act like you have no idea the world exists."

Paul thought about it. Nodded. "I can do that."

Michael doubted it, but said nothing. He did have to ask, "Why are you doing this?"

"Like I said, Ricky needs me." Paul shrugged. "I'd do anything for the kid."

"Would you sleep with him."

Paul smirked. Rolled his eyes. Punched Michael in the stomach.

Michael crumpled to the ground. Coughing. Gasping for air.

"I'll do what I need to do. Don't make me queer." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. After lighting and taking a long drag, he said, "Thanks for the help, Blueprints. I'll have money wired into your account by the end of tomorrow." He nudged Michael with his toe. "No hard feelings."

Michael snorted.

"See you around, kid." He left.

Michael coughed again. Curled into a ball. His face felt bruised and hot. His stomach ached. Adrenaline coursed through his body, making every hair on his body stand on edge.

He whimpered softly and closed his eyes. So much for things being better.


	34. Chapter 34

"You know I only have ten months left on my sentence," Travis said, setting the book he'd been pretending to read down.

Alex glanced at him over the top of his glasses. "No, I didn't know that. Congratulations." He lowered his eyes back to his book.

"It's weird. I've been here four years. It'll be different outside."

He sighed and set his book down. "But good. You're young. You have your whole life ahead of you. You've managed to make a significant breakthrough, and are working through the issues that got you in here. It might not be easy, but it'll be worth it."

Travis heaved a sigh. Practically draped himself over the table, arms stretched out so his hands brushed against Alex's arms. He looked up at Alex through his eyelashes, lips pressed into a pout. "But you'll still be in here. I'll miss you. You're, like, my rock, you know? If it wasn't for you, I'd never have told anyone that had happened to me. What my stepfather did. And they'd never have gotten me help and..." Travis shrugged. "You just mean a lot."

The kid was annoying in his persistence. He hadn't ever come out and stated his attraction to Alex, but it was very obvious. The kid wore his heart on his sleeve, and he was a little coquette. Flirty and manipulative in a way that Alex hated.

"You can still visit. And write. But you'll do fine." Alex picked up his book again, hoping that Travis would take the point.

For a moment, it looked like he did. And then, Travis moved his chair closer to Alex. Leaned close. "Look," he said in a voice that was nearly a whisper. "I've been waiting to get you alone for awhile. Without Michael around. Because, I know he's your cellmate, and you two have a lot of history and all, but... come on. Alex. I know you." He put his hand on Alex's leg. "I want you. I understand why we couldn't before, but now..."

"Michael and I are getting married," Alex said. He shifted away. "So, yes, we have a history. And a future. While I think you're a nice kid, that's all. And all it ever will be."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but..."

"No buts. I love Michael. I..."

"Yo, Mahone."

Alex turned. A guard was in the doorway, beckoning.

"I'll see you later, Travis." He stood and went to the guard. "What is it?"

"Don't know. Got a call, said Doc needed you in the infirmary."

"Is something wrong with Michael?"

The guard shrugged. "Don't know. Probably. Always seems to be something with him. They should move him back to Gen Pop where he belongs."

Alex shook his head. "He doesn't belong in Gen Pop. He doesn't belong here at all."

"Whatever."

Alex was led to the infirmary wing. His heart was pounding by the time he reached it, palms sweating. Something was wrong. Unless this was about him--which he doubted; his health was just fine at the moment--something must have happened to Michael. Not knowing drove him crazy.

"Sit." The guard pointed to a seat.

Alex dropped into it.

"Stay." And then, without a further word, he just walked away.

Alex resisted the urge to tackle the man to the floor and beat him senseless. He wasn't a dog, but he wasn't an animal either. So, he stayed in his seat, fists clenched against his thighs. Waiting.

It took ten minutes. No one bothered to go tell Dr. Parsons Alex was there. He finally stormed into the main room, annoyance clearly scrawled across his face. When he saw Alex, he stopped short.

"When did you get here?"

"A few minutes ago."

"Why didn't anyone tell me? I've been banging my head against the wall and... Never mind. Come on." He turned on his heel and headed back to the room he'd just left.

"What's going on?" Alex demanded, following.

"Wilson found Michael in the room the art teacher set aside for him to work. He was alone, but had a bruise on the side of his face. He was also hunched over, breathing labored. He's got a huge bruise across his abdomen, but he won't tell us who did it."

Alex's jaw tightened. "Wilson must have let someone in. He's the one to ask."

Dr. Parson's shook his head. "Wilson was passing by. Thought he'd check and see if Michael was in there. Kid's graduating from college and he wants a picture done. Nelson was supposed to be guarding Michael. The warden's not here, so the head CO is questioning him. Michael isn't telling me anything. I thought you might help."

"Yeah. No problem. But alone? Please?"

"Yeah, of course. Just don't... Never mind. I trust you." He stopped in front of a room. Unlocked the door. "Okay. Just... Call me when you're done. I'll be out here as much as possible."

"Thanks, Doc." Alex opened the door and went inside.

It wasn't as bad as he thought. Michael had a bruised cheek and a little swelling around his eye. His arm was across his stomach and he was hunched over, but nothing to bad. Nothing like... like before.

Relief made Alex dizzy.

"Hey," he said when he felt he could talk. He climbed onto exam table next to Michael. Took his hand. "How are you?"

Michael snorted. Rolled his eyes. Said nothing.

Okay then. He was on the defensive. Waiting to be told to tell who'd hurt him. Ready to refuse. Which mean, Alex had to get him comfortable first. Get him relaxed.

Chat him up. So, he said the first thing that came to mind.

"Travis hit on me."

Oh, yeah. That'll relax him.

"What did you say?"

"I told him we were getting married. If he tries it again, I will tell him to fuck off."

"You don't have to."

"No, I think I do." Alex rolled his eyes. "If not that, I'll have to find some kind of negative association thing to make him get over it. Spray him in the face with water every time he tries it or something."

"He's not a cat."

"Hit him on the nose with a newspaper?"

That got a laugh. "He's not a puppy."

Alex sighed. "Ten months won't come fast enough. Maybe our commutations will go through before that. Save my sanity."

"Maybe." Michael turned his hand over in Alex's. Threaded their fingers. "I'm not going to tell you what happened."

"Why not?"

"Bad enough I'm in protective seg. I don't..."

"That's bullshit. We've been over this. There's nothing wrong with it. It just means we know how to stay out of trouble and are being rewarded. More freedom. A comfortable couch. Our own yard. It's nice."

"It might not be safe." Michael licked his lips. Looked at Alex. "I don't want to risk... this was just because I said the wrong thing. If I snitch... he might kill me."

"At least now I know it's a he."

Michael rolled his eyes at the poor attempt at humor. "Very funny. Yes, it was a he." He sighed. "I can't tell you. Because he got to me once, and..."

"It was Paul Rossi," Alex interrupted.

"He can get... what?"

He quirked the corner of his mouth. "If it was McNab, you'd be in worse shape. The fight would have been much worse." He touched Michael's face, the side without the bruise. "You would have fought back." He brushed his thumb over Michael's lower lip. "You weren't expecting this. It was Paul."

Michael pressed his lips together. Crossed his arms over his chest. His face took on a very familiar look of stubbornness. The type that appeared on Cameron's face when he didn't want to eat his vegetables.

"What did he want?"

No answer.

Alex thought about what he knew of the mobster. His actions since the whole fiasco had begun. His loyalties. History. Anything he could remember.

And one thing was constant: Ricky.

"He..." Alex frowned. No way. He shook his head, but had to articulate the preposterous thought anyway. "He wants to get to Ricky. He wanted... he wanted you to help you break into the psych ward?"

Michael's eyebrow twitched.

"Why? I mean, no one is that devoted. Not for the mob. It's a job. A life, a family, yeah, but Ricky's fine."

"He tried to kill himself. Clearly your definition of fine is radically different from mine."

Alex rolled is eyes. Squeezed Michael's knee. "He's safe where he is. Safer than he was out here."

Michael rubbed is eyes.

"Why would Paul want to get to him? Unless..." He frowned. "So, you asked if Paul was in love with Ricky, and the homophobe punched you."

"Can we go back to our cell now? I'm tired."

He slid off the exam table and moved to stand between Michael's legs. "You have to tell them what happened. They need to know that one of their guards was bribed. That Paul has more influence around here than he should. That he hurt you."

Michael snorted. "Paul Rossi is mafia. Of course he has more influence around here than he should. Me saying something isn't going to change that. Nothing will. We're in prison, Alex." He met Alex's eyes. "And, believe it or not, prison is a lot like the real world. People are fallible. They're bent, changed to suit those who have power's needs. There's nowhere safe, not truly safe. And if you cross the wrong person, you end up dead." He slid his hands up Alex's arms. "I don't want to end up dead. This? I can handle. Death, I'm not willing to."

Alex closed his eyes as Michael pulled at him. Kissed him, legs hooking behind the backs of Alex's knees.

"I was scared when they brought me here. Afraid..."

"I know. If I tell, it could happen again," Michael whispered. His lips brushed over Alex's jaw. "I just want things to be as easy as they can. Not ruffle any feathers."

"But..."

"Please."

Alex sighed. Rested his forehead against Michael's. "The warden could throw you in the SHU if you don't cooperate. He'll want to know what happened. If you don't..."

Michael pulled back. "Do you honestly think that he'd do that? After everything?"

"Why risk it?"

"Why risk being killed?" Michael kissed him again, then pushed Alex away. "Tell Dr. Parsons I'm not saying anything. And if you tell him anything, I'll just say you're wrong. That you made it up."

"Why are you being so difficult?"

Michael crossed his arms over his chest. Stared at Alex with that stubborn no-vegetables look again.

"Jesus Christ, Michael!"

"Why is it so important to you that I tell? Why can't you just let it be?"

"Because I don't want it to happen again."

"It won't if I don't snitch. When the fuck did you become such a goody two-shoes, Alex? This is about survival, okay? I want to survive. You're convinced we're getting out of here soon, but I'm not so sure. Even if we do get our sentences commuted, who knows when it will happen?" He blinked his eyes, face flushed, lips trembling. "It could be years. You know how the government works. The bureaucracy. It moves slow. So, until we are gone, I'm going to make sure I do everything I can to make sure we're safe."

"But..."

"No."

Alex grabbed Michael by the shoulders. Shook him. "Are you always so stubborn? This stupid?"

Michael knocked Alex's arms away. Scurried off the table, behind it, so it was between the two of them. "Are you really surprised?" he asked. His voice shook. "I broke my brother out of a maximum security prison. I got my fucking toes cut off because I refused to tell Abruzzi where the man who turned him in was. I can keep a secret, Alex. And I will not..."

"You were protecting an innocent man then. This is different."

"Do you really think Paul will be satisfied with a toe when I'm sleeping with the man who killed Abruzzi?" Michael's eyes blazed. His fingers crinkled the paper covering the exam table. "He will *kill* me, Alex. I don't..." His voice caught. "I don't want to die."

Alex's insides turned to mush at the soft, desperate sounding plea. He had to close his eyes. To breathe. To fight the instinct to lock Michael away forever, to keep him hidden while Alex found the nearest weapon and went after every man who posed a danger in the prison. Fight the rage, the overwhelming, dizzying haze brought on by the knowledge that someone could make his love sound that scared, that desperate.

"Alex?"

He pushed away from the table. Pressed his clenched fists into his sides.

Then, soft, even more heartbreaking than the last, "Are you mad at me?"

Alex forcefully exhaled. Opened his eyes. "I want to kill anyone who would hurt you. If Paul was in this room right now, he'd be dead. But you're always safe, Michael. From me. I promise."

"But you're angry with me." Big eyes. Quivering lips. Trembling all over that didn't stop with Alex's assurance. "You don't believe I know what I'm doing."

Dangerous territory. Alex knew it. Dangerous for anyone, but for Michael, doubly so. Alex knew about his condition, knew that if he didn't have at least one person who believed he wasn't crazy, that he knew what he was doing, Michael could lose it. What that entailed, Alex didn't know. But...

"Of course I believe in you, Michael," he said. "I understand why you're scared. Your reasoning. I just... I was so scared."

"I know." He swallowed. "I think this has pushed me back a little. Like... further away from my breakthrough."

Alex couldn't help but laugh. "Two steps back, eh?"

Hesitantly, Michael came from behind the table. Approached Alex with the cautious air of someone approaching an untamed animal. "Maybe one. And a half."

"One and a half. That's not so bad." He held out his hand.

Michael looked at it. Considered it. Took it. "I started a new painting."

"That's good."

"About suicide."

"Yours?"

He shook his head.

"That's something." He pulled Michael to him. "When are you going to do one about us?" He kissed Michael's cheek. "About love?"

Michael sighed. Rested his head in the crook of Alex's neck. "I don't know. Soon."

Alex kissed his head. Stroked Michael's back. "Don't rush yourself. Do it when you're ready. Until then, do what moves you now."

"You move me. Now, then, and always."

He just sighed. Tightened his arms around Michael and rocked him. Slowly, gently, for always.


	35. Chapter 35

The warden was still out the next day, so Michael wasn't called in for questioning. Apparently, the CO wasn't interested in dealing with him. Michael didn't know if it was because he figured it was easier to let the warden do it, because Nelson had confessed to taking a bribe from Paul, or because the CO was protecting Nelson and filing a false report. Whatever it was, Michael didn't care. He wasn't going to tell anyone that it was Paul. He just wanted to forget about the whole thing.

Alex had an anger management session, so Michael was alone. He'd decided to go to the gym. Walk on the treadmill awhile. See if he could get some endorphins working so he could break out of the funk he was in.

God he hated this.

There were a few cons in the workout room when he got there, mostly lifting weights. One was playing with the punching bag in the corner, sweat pouring from him. He must have been at it for awhile.

Michael nodded at the guard in the corner, then climbed onto the treadmill. He really didn't like lifting weights, even though he knew it was the thing to do in prison. And, maybe, if he bulked up a bit, it wouldn't be so easy to push him around. He was no stranger to fighting to keep himself safe. He could do, to an extent. But against Nicky...

He shook his head sharply. Tried to throw the thought away.

Paul. He was supposed to be thinking about *Paul*. Because, even one on one, Michael didn't think he would have been able to defend himself. Not even if he'd bulked up. Paul was mob. He pounded people in the face for a living.

Plus, Michael just didn't like lifting weights. Didn't like the way it made him feel. And, yeah, okay, maybe he looked good with muscles, but...

Travis walked in. Nodded at Michael before going to the weights.

Of course.

Not that Michael had anything to worry about from that quarter. He knew Alex. He *knew* him and didn't have to worry.

But he couldn't bring himself to like the kid. Not with his happiness continually bubbling over everywhere. Or him hitting on Alex. Or those perfectly sculpted abs. Or pretty, pretty eyelashes. And the beautiful eyes. Or the box-of-crayons stupidity.

Because if he wasn't so stupid, maybe it wouldn't be bad. At least, Michael wouldn't have to feel guilty about hating him so much. You didn't hate someone who was inferior to you in some way.

But he was pretty and happy. That was enough.

Michael continued to jog on the treadmill. He liked to run. It jogged his brain enough to keep it clear from distracting thoughts. Stopped him from having to analyze everything around him. Before, before Lincoln got arrested and Michael started planning the escape, he used to jog every morning. It was part of his routine, the one he'd created to help him cope with life. Even after, when there was no time for anything but planning, he'd kept doing it. He'd had to, not just to clear his mind, but he knew he needed to have some kind of endurance to survive Fox River.

Since then, there'd been no time. He'd been too busy trying to survive. Maybe it was good. Everything that had happened. Well. Maybe not good, but worth it, if it got Michael to the point where he could get back into something like a routine.

"Hey, Mike."

His brain halted. Stuttered, tripped around couple thoughts. He frowned and turned his head to the treadmill next to his. "Travis."

The kid gave him a bright smile. "You don't mind if I call you Mike, do you? Michael's kind of formal and all. Unless you have a nickname."

He shook his head. "In Gen Pop, people called me Blueprints, but I wasn't a huge fan. Otherwise, everyone just calls me Michael."  
"I've heard someone call you Mikey. Would you rather I call you that?"

"No. Mike is fine." He adjusted the speed on the treadmill, slowing it down so he could catch his breath

Travis nodded and adjusted his treadmill until he and Michael were going the same speed. "So," he said conversationally. "I've been wanting talk to you.

He smiled grimly. "Have you?"

"Yeah."

"About Alex, right?"

Wide eyes glanced at him, all innocence. "Alex? No. About you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. I'm worried about you, Mike. I mean, I know we don't know each other all that well, but I'm good at reading people. At least, I like to think so. And you seem very, you know. Depressed."

"You figured that out all on your own?"

"Well, I might have heard O'Connell and Randall talking about it. About you. Especially since you were so quiet this morning, and you got beat up again yesterday. Not defending yourself is never a god sign, even though I heard you did a good job during the riot. But, yeah, anyway. So you're depressed."

He sighed. "Yeah, I guess. But I'm working on it."

"And that's good. Really. I mean, I was depressed for years and it wasn't until Alex got it out of me that I was able to start working through all it. I know how hard it is." He cleared his throat. "I was just thinking that, you know. It is hard. And something you really need to concentrate on. Focus on yourself."

"I am."

"But you're really not, are you? You're pretty focused on Alex and your relationship." He hit the stop button on the treadmill. Turned to face Alex and leaned against the controls. "If you're worried about keeping him happy, how can you be truly focused on yourself and your needs?"

Michael gritted his teeth. Stopped his treadmill and clenched his hands on the railings until his knuckles were white. "That's a good point. What do you suggest?"

"Well. I don't really have the right to suggest anything. I'm just trying to tell you what I learned while in psych. Trying to pull myself together. I just found that, once I was away from everything, once I could stop thinking about anything but myself, it was so much easier to get through all that mess that was dragging me down. To make a breakthrough. You know?"

He turned. "You think I should break up with Alex so I can focus on myself."

Travis shrugged. Blinked at him. "I think you need to do what's best for you. And I know that, when I was in your position, what was best for me was not to have to worry about pleasing a lover. Worrying about his needs, his happiness. To be completely focused on myself, my pain, and how to come to terms with everything that'd been done to me."

Everything that'd been done to him. Michael didn't really want to come to terms with it; it'd mean having to think about it.

"Thanks for your advice, Travis." He picked up his towel and wiped his face. "I'll think about what you said."

Travis offered him a bright smile. "Anytime you want to talk, Mike, I'd be willing to lend an ear."

He gave Travis the facsimile of a smile and left.

After a quick shower, he went back to his cell. Alex was inside, sitting at the table, reading.

"Hey." Michael went to the bed and lay down.

"Hey. Good workout?"

He shrugged. Crawled under the covers and pulled them over his head.

He could hear Alex sigh. The book snapped shut. Soft footsteps on the concrete floor and then the mattress shifted as Alex lay besides him. "What happened."

"Nothing. Just your boy being smarter than I gave him credit for."

The blanket was pulled away from Michael's head. Alex kissed him on the cheek. Stroked his neck. "What do you mean?"

"He was in the gym." He closed his eyes, tired. Maybe he could sleep the rest of his sentence. It was only, what? Ten years or so? He could do it.

"Did you two fight?"

"I said he was smart, not stupid. He would never fight with me. He'd risk losing you." He yawned. "He tried to manipulate me."

Alex cleared his throat. Stroked his fingers through Michael's hair, the tips stroking against his scalp. "Tried indicates his failed. You're upset."

"He didn't succeed in manipulating me. I'm not going to do what he wants me to do."

"And that is?"

"Break up with you."

"Of course."

"No, but get his." He rolled onto his side. Stretched on arm out on the bed and rested his head against it. "He wants me to break up with you because it's what's best for me. Mentally and emotionally."

"That's a good tactic to take." Alex kissed Michael's forehead. "Almost sounds like something a psychologist would say."

Michael nodded. "Yeah." He sighed. "Except Juarez has never suggested that. Neither has Dr. Parsons. I wonder why."

"Maybe because we're not codependent. Yes, you're depressed and frustrated by being in here, but you're not trying to avoid thinking and dealing with your issues by focusing on me. We take breaks from one another. We talk about what's going on in our minds. You make an effort with your psychologist and you excise your demons through your art." He stroked down Michael's neck. "Travis has a history of trying to hide from his problems. He's used to hearing that he should break up with whoever he's with, or tell other people he has his own things to work through. You're not ignoring your problems. You and I don't need to break up."

"I know."

Alex moved in and kissed him. "Don't let him get to you."

His eyes fell shut. "I'm trying not to."

"I know." He kissed him again. "I can talk to him again, if you want."

"No, it's okay." He snuggled against Alex. Kissed him. "I'm more irritated than anything else. And I can handle irritation."

Alex said nothing. His thumb caressed over Michael's cheek, following the bone to where it met his ear and back down again.

He opened his eyes. "What?"

"What, what?"

"You're thinking really loudly. What are you thinking about?"

He smiled crookedly. "Just that our problems have changed somewhat since moving into protective seg. Instead of worrying about being killed or raped or getting into fights, we're worried about the pathetic manipulations of an empty headed child with a crush on me."

Michael smiled. At least Alex seemed to have forgotten about Paul and the bruises he'd given Michael the day before. "I'm not convinced I'm going to die anymore," he said.

Alex's eyes lit. "You're not?"

"No. I'm still not one hundred percent sure that we'll get out of here early, but I think I'll probably survive."

"Well. That's better than nothing."

His good spirits dimmed. "I'm sorry I don't meet your expectations." His stomach felt hollow. Head began to ache. Rolling over, he closed his eyes and pulled the blanket over his head again.

"See? That's the other thing. My approval of you doesn't affect your mood at all." Alex began to rub Michael's back. "You do understand that even imagining the possibility of you not surviving prison devastates me, right? And I am happy that you think you'll probably survive, but I'd be more happy to hear that you know you'll survive. It's not about you not meeting my expectations. It's about me wishing I could do something to make you believe that you'll make it."

"I want to," Michael said. His face was feeling hot and sweaty from being underneath the blankets. Even though they'd been switched to a lighter, summer blanket, they still trapped in heat. And it was about a hundred degrees. And he was still hot from the shower. "Get out, I mean. Early. And I don't want to die. I just sort of have this very small feeling that maybe I might."

Alex's body blanketed him from behind. "Did you feel like that before Nicky?"

Michael sighed. Everything came back to Nicky. And T-Bag. Sometimes, when Michael remembered the attack, he heard T-Bag's voice. Felt T-Bag's hands on him. Legs straddling Michael's body. And, worse, were the dreams when it was a strange amalgamation of both men. Or just both men, taking turns.

"Stupid, huh? Letting one person change everything for me."

"Darling, you are speaking to a man whose life was pushed off track for exactly that reason. At least you weren't perpetrator."

"Just the victim."

"Didn't we already have that conversation?"

"I know." He rolled onto his back. Pulled the blanket from his face again. Inhaled deeply as fresh air hit his face. "I just mean." He sighed. "I don't know what I mean. It wasn't my fault."

"No. It wasn't. And Shales was my fault. I let him get to me. Then I let him control my life. You didn't do anything to warrant what Nicky did to you. And now you're learning how to move past it."

Michael sighed. Closed his eyes. "I can't even imagine life outside these walls. It's been so long since I've had anything that resembled a life. I can't..."

"Well," Alex said, slipping his arm around Michael's shoulder. "We'll live in a house. Maybe the one across the street from Pam and Lincoln. We should all stay relatively close, I think. I don't want to miss Cameron growing up, and you and your brother deserve a chance to start over."

"Yeah," Michael whispered. He moved into Alex, resting his head on his shoulder.

"We'll have a garden. A real one, not one with a dead body beneath. I like growing roses. Love the smell. We'll have a whole yard full. Maybe you can design a maze in the backyard. Pam said it was big. Or we can leave Chicago. Buy a house with a lot of acreage."

"I've never lived anywhere but the city. I'd love to live on a farm or something. Except for the farming part. Although, I like horses."

"Have you ever ridden?"

"A little. Not a lot."

Alex stroked Michael's arm. "First thing we'll do when we get out of here is go to one of those ranches. The one where it's all swimming pools and sleeping in and riding horses and stuff. You know what I'm talking about?"

"You mean a resort? A spa?"

"Yeah. We'll take the family."

Michael laughed. "Okay. But only if you get a mud wrap."

Alex joined him. "Okay. I guess." He rolled onto his side. Rubbed his thumb over Michael's lower lip. "Never had one before, but there's a first time for everything. Actually, I was thinking I might get a tattoo when we get out."

He laughed again, but his heart picked up a few paces at Alex's words. The serious tone. "Really?"

"Yeah. Don't know of what, yet." His hand cupped Michael's cheek. "I figured I'd leave the design up to you."

His stomach clenched. A warmth suffused him.

He kicked the blankets off him. Climbed onto Alex, kissing him frantically. "I love you," he whispered against Alex's mouth. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Alex's fingers clenched against Michael's head. Legs wrapped around him, pressing hips into Michael's. "Me too, Michael. Me too."


	36. Chapter 36

It was strange meeting Pam alone. At the beginning, she'd come by herself a few times. Before she was sure Cameron would be okay seeing him in prison--before she was sure she could make it through a visit without crying the whole time. But since she'd moved back to Chicago and began dating Lincoln, visiting days were a family affair. The Mahone-Scofield-Burrows family.

"Pam. It's good to see you." Alex pulled Pam into a hug and held her tightly.

"You too." She kissed him on the cheek. "Happy anniversary."

He turned his head and kissed her properly. "Fifteen years."

Her smile was wry. "In a manner of speaking." She let him go and sat down. "How's Michael?"

"He's okay. He has to see the warden today to talk about what happened."

"He's going to tell the warden who bribed the guard, right? That guard needs to be fired."

"Well. I doubt he'll be fired. And they know what guard it was. I just doubt Nelson will say, because the mob is more powerful than the warden. Although, it's all so petty. No, I'm not happy Michael was hurt, but it was a punch. Paul won't get into that much trouble for a punch."

"Then why don't you tell the warden?"

"I will, if it comes down to it. But he didn't ask for me to come, and you were here." He took Pam's hand. "How have you been?"

She shifted in her seat. "Fine. I've been good."

Alex's eyes narrowed. He studied her carefully. "And Cameron?"

"Excited about the first day of school. We went back to school shopping the other day. He got a Superman folder that he hasn't stopped talking about, and new clothes." She grinned. "LJ came with us, and Cameron managed to pick out an outfit that looked exactly like something LJ got. I'll try to make them both wear it next time."

He laughed. "Poor LJ."

"Ah, he loves it. Cameron adores him, and I think LJ needs that in his life."

"Don't we all?"

"I think we all do right now."

Alex smiled. "I guess. I just wish Michael could be happier."

"He will be. Give him time."

"I am." He sighed, though, melancholy. He was tired, bored, and his boyfriend was depressed. It was hard.

This was not what he wanted to think about right now. It wasn't fair to Pam, who'd come to see him, not counsel him on his relationship.

"So. How's Lincoln?"

Again, that slight pause and uneasy look flittering across her face. "Lincoln's good. He, um, he's helping make sets and things for LJ's theater group. He..." She stopped talking. Exhaled hard.

"What's going on?"

She brushed her hand over her eyes. "Have you ever thought about having more children?"

"Are you pregnant?"

"No." She blinked rapidly. Looked up. A tear still slid from the corner of her eye. "I almost was. Or, thought I almost was."

Oh. Big deal, obviously, not that he was surprised. He and Pam had waited to have kids until he was more firmly settled in his career, and when they'd started trying, there were problems. They'd eventually gotten pregnant the natural way, but they'd been seeing a doctor and talking about various treatments. They'd planned to try for another about two years after Cameron, but then there was Shales and the divorce and now Pam was getting older.

"I'm sorry." He laced his fingers with Pam's. Squeezed.

She gave him a tremulous smile. "I don't even... know if I want kids with Lincoln. I don't know.. where my life is. Everything's just happening so quickly. I don't know if he wants kids."

"Have you asked him?"

"No. I don't know how." She wiped away a tear that tracked down the side of her face. "I'm comfortable with him. I love him. But there's this part of me..." Her lower lip trembled. "You're my husband, Alex. You're the man I planned to spend the rest of my life with. To have children with. And suddenly seriously thinking of Lincoln in that way, it's just..."

"Come here." He pulled her arm until she rose and came round the table. Then he tugged her into his lap and held her tight. "You know you're my girl. You will always be my girl."

She laughed. Sniffed. Pressed her forehead against his neck. "I know."

"I haven't thought about having kids for awhile. My life is... well. Not only am I in prison, but I'm going to marry a man. Children are probably not in my future. I don't even know if Michael wants any. But. I'll probably go back to my cell today, and stretched out with Michael. I'll start talking about our future, and our house and what we'll do, and I'll ask him what he thinks about children. Then, I won't have to wonder anymore."

"You have had way too much therapy."

"Yes. I have."

She laughed. Sat up and wiped her face. "I don't even know if I want kids anymore. I love Cameron to death, but..."

"Talk to Lincoln. Sometimes, you need to bounce ideas off someone else." He squeezed her. "We used to be pretty good at that."

"We did." She rested her head against his. "So. What's this about you and Michael getting married?"

"LJ didn't tell you?"

"No. When did you ask?"

"A few days ago. We were talking about a bunch of things. I think that he might have actually, *finally* cried about what Nicky did to him. I can't remember if he ever has before, but this was different. This came right out from inside, you know? It as painful to listen to."

She raised an eyebrow. "So, you swooped in and asked to marry him?"

"Not exactly. He'd calmed down and we were joking. Talking. I just love him so much, Pam. And maybe I've been kind of giddy with the idea of getting out of here early. Of things working out. So, I asked him."

"And he said yes?"

"He did."

"I like seeing you like this, Alex," Pam said, smiling. "Happy and, yes, giddy. It's been a long time."

"I want you to be giddy, too."

"It's not that easy."

"I'm in prison, Pam. And you are living across the street from a man who adores you, adores your son, and is pretty damn handsome." He squeezed her again. "I'm thinking something is wrong with this picture."

She shrugged. "Once bitten, Alex."

"Lincoln had everything taken away from him. Even when he got it back, he lost the love of his life. One of you is going to have to grow a pair, honey, and you're the one with the ex-husband to hold your hand and urge you on. So. Go. Talk."

"What if we have to break up?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think that will happen?"

"I don't know."

"Think of it this way. Does he seem to view Cameron as an annoyance or a joy?"

She smiled. "A joy. I dated a few men after we divorced. I always kept them far away from Cameron because I didn't want him to get attached only to have the man disappear. But with Lincoln, it wasn't just because he was here and stopped Cameron from completely melting down. He just gets along so well with Cameron. He's a wonderful father." Pam sighed. "But what if he doesn't want children with me?"

Alex kissed her gently. Looked into her eyes and said, "I know how you could find out."

She rolled her eyes. "I guess I have to go talk to him."

"I'd offer to baby sit, but..."

"I'll give you a pass." She kissed him. "I'll bring cake next time we come. And engagement should be celebrated. Michael will be okay with it, right?"

"I'll tell him to talk to Lincoln. Tell him. And prepare him before hand. He should be fine. He's having more good days than bad."

"Good." Pam kissed him one more time, then climbed off his lap. "I'll see you Saturday. Take care of yourself."

"I will. You too."


	37. Chapter 37

"Michael. Please, have a seat," the warden said when Michael was shown into his office.

Michael did as he was told, knowing that it was probably the last thing he'd do willingly during this visit. His heart was in his throat, afraid of what might happen. Back at Fox River, a lifetime ago, when he'd refused to tell Pope who'd burned him, he'd been thrown into solitary. If that happened here, now, Michael was afraid he really would go insane.

And yet, he couldn't tell the warden about Paul.

"Would you like a glass of water?"

"No, thank you."

The warden nodded and sat behind his desk. Folding his hands in front of him, he leaned forward and looked Michael in the eye. "Nelson has been put on suspension. He's refusing to talk about what happened the day you were attacked. He will not be allowed back to work until he explains what happened."

"And, if he doesn't?"

"Then he no longer has a place in this prison."

Michael nodded. Looked down at his hands. Pressed his thumbs together. "If I tell you who attacked me, he comes back?"

"No. Of course not. It is his responsibility to clean up his own mess. My only concern is that the inmate who attacked you will do it again. If I don't find out who it was, I can't protect you. Do you understand that, Michael?"

He bit back the sarcastic retort. Reminded himself that the warden was just doing his job. "I understand."

The warden sighed. "You've had a rough run of it. I know that. You would have been hassled enough, but what Nicky did..."

Michael flinched. Cursed himself under his breath. Why couldn't he just let it go? Hide his stupid reaction.

"What Nicky did made it worse in some ways, and better in others," the warden continued after a pause. "I think most of the inmates really rallied around you after that. After all, you are a man who broke out of prison. You're something of a hero to them. Even after the riot, they still talk about you. Favorably. You're becoming a legend. So I'm afraid that whoever did this to you may try again. It may be a personal thing, a sort of way to prove something. I can't let that happen, Michael. I can't let someone get to you. At any of my inmates in protective custody. If you won't tell me, then I'll have to take further measures to protect you."

"Like what?" he asked, not looking up. "Throwing me in the SHU?"

He sighed. "No. I understand you're frightened. That you're honoring the inmate code by not telling me. I'd rather Nelson come clean, but if you won't tell me, I won't punish you. I will have to restrict or suspend your access to the art room, though. Keep you in the protective segregation wing except when you're with the doctor."

Michael swallowed. His throat ached. "So, I won't get draw anymore?" Strange, it should hurt so much. He'd always enjoyed drawing, but it'd never been vital before. Now, with the threat of it being taken away, he was all pain. Sharp, shooting pain, all along the right side of his body, his chest, his arm, even his neck and cheek. Fingers, too, like they could anticipate the loss of holding a paint brush and drawing it over canvas.

"No. You'll still be able to do your art. If we don't have an actual free room in the wing, I'm sure you could work in your cell or the common room."

Relief washed over him. Strangely, the pain didn't go away. "Oh."

"I really wish, though..."

"I can't tell you." He licked his lips. "Unless, uh." No. He couldn't. There was no way the warden would let Paul move into the psych ward so he could be with Ricky; that wasn't the way things worked. If it was, then Alex would have been with him the long month Michael had spent in there. "I can't," he finally said.

The warden sighed. "Very well. I'll have your art supplies moved to protective segregation tomorrow. You and a guard and sort out where to set it up. That sound good?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"I really wish you would tell me. I would handle it in such a way the inmate wouldn't know who turned him in."

Michael just gave the warden a look.

"Okay. I understand. I'll have a guard take you back to your cell."

Michael rose. "Thank you, sir."

The warden shook his hand, and it hurt. Pins and needles all over his skin. As he left, Michael scratched at it, following the tingly pain up his arm.

"You okay, Scofield?" the guard asked as they walked back to protective seg.

He blinked. The corner of his eye was itchy. "Huh?"

"You keep scratching. Something wrong?"

"No. I'm fine. Just hot."

"This weather sucks, doesn't it? Hot, humid. Christ, if I wanted to live in a swamp, I'd move to Philadelphia or something."

He snorted. "Yeah." He scratched the corner of his eye. "Thanks," he said when they got back to the block.

"No problem. You going to the common room?"

"No. I'll head back to my cell."

"Be good."

Michael laughed. Rolled his eyes. "I'll try."

Alex was gone when Michael got back. He knew it was his and Pam's anniversary; he'd originally planned to make them something, even though they were divorced, but it fell through. He was pretty sure Alex wouldn't mind. He'd probably be more focused on their anniversary, of which Michael had no clue of the date. He wasn't sure when they were placing it. The date Michael got in, or their first kiss, or the first time they'd had sex. Or what.

It was hot in the cell. Michael stripped to his boxers and doused himself in the sink. Hot, shivering, side throbbing, he stretched out on the bunk. Closed his eyes.

Sleep came in fits and starts. He'd doze. His dreams were strange. Red hazed and confusing. Lots of long halls and people hitting him with sharp sticks. Lincoln being taken away from him. Away to jail, to another foster home, to electric chair, back to his block. Sara, strangling Kellerman, that scary-ferocious look on her face. Alex, a gun trained on him and Lincoln, ready to kill them, begging for his life back. McNab.

Nicky.

"Scofield. Mail!"

He opened his eyes. They fell gummy, stuck together. His mail was on the floor where the guard had tossed it through the bars. A stack of envelopes: one covered in lipsticked kisses, one from Jensen Ackles, a few from fans he'd heard from before, and one from Sara.

He picked up the last one with interest. They'd written each other a few times since he'd gotten here. He hadn't told her about Alex, yet; he wasn't sure how to tell the woman he loved that he'd fallen for the man that'd chased them across the country. Besides. They never got personal in their letters. Just short little things. Her job. His art. Family--she was living with an aunt and the son of her cousin. He talked about Lincoln and LJ. And they kept in touch.

"Dear Michael,

"I hope this letter finds you well. I know we don't get into details about our lives, but I know you, and I can only imagine how you've been holding up in prison. If you ever want to open up, tell me what's been going on, please, do. The distance and formality feels strange after everything we went through.

"Things are good with me. I'm still working at the clinic. Some days, it breaks my heart, but it's rewarding. In some ways, I think it's better for me than Fox River. I really feel as if I'm making a difference, that my work matters. It's a good feeling.

"I'm coming out to Chicago next month. I'd like to come visit you, if that's possible. I've been talking with your brother, so tell him if you don't mind. He'll pass the message along.

"Take care of yourself, Michael. I love you.

"Sara."

Michael sighed. The letter had been sent almost three weeks ago, which meant she'd be coming soon. And he'd have to tell her about Alex then. With any luck, she'd be coming to tell him she was getting married or something, too.

Still holding the letter, Michael lay back down and closed his eyes. Of course, he'd tell her yes. She'd been the one bright spot of Fox River. And he wanted to see her again. They hadn't really seen each other since Panama. She'd come to tell them Lincoln had been exonerated. He'd been set free, but Michael was still wanted.

It'd never been any question in his mind. If Lincoln went back to the States--which Michael knew he would, if only for LJ--then Michael would too. He couldn't live a life exiled from his brother and nephew.

He and Sara had fought. Loudly. For hours on end. They'd both screamed and cried and, in the end, Michael had gotten his way. He'd left the boat the hotel, tracked down Alex, and turned himself in.

Alex had been speechless. "I'm here to kill you," he'd said. "You realize that."

"It's over. Kellerman rolled on the company. They all know." He'd held out his hands to be cuffed and said, "Do what's right, Alex. Make it right."

The last time Michael had seen Sara, she'd come to the holding cell in the embassy.

"I can't do this, Michael," she'd said. Her eyes were red, watery. Face pale. "I can't wait for you. I'm sorry."

The only think he'd been able to say was, "I understand."

The letters had started about a month after he'd been sentenced. She'd asked Lincoln before she'd started writing. Ever since then, it'd been a letter every few months, always trivialities, always unsatisfying.

Maybe a face to face encounter was what they needed to break past that.  
The mattress shifted. Alex's warm weight settled in beside Michael. Lips pressed against his shoulder.

"You're burning up," Alex said.

Michael forced his eyes open. "I'm fine. Just hot."

"Feverish. How do you feel?"

He rolled onto his side. Slid his hand over Alex's hip. "I'm okay. How's Pam doing?"

"Not fantastic."

"What's wrong?"

"I guess she thought she was pregnant and now she's dealing with the fact she's not. And all that it entails." He traced his fingers over Michael's face. Frowned slightly. "Do you think Lincoln wants more kids?"

Michael shrugged. "I don't know. He never talked about it. But, probably. He loved it when LJ was little. When he was there. And now he's all about starting over. I'd bet he'd love to have another kid, try it all again."

He smiled. "Good. Because I think Pam really does want more children. And she and Lincoln are good together. From what I've seen."

"He loves her," Michael said. He wanted to snuggle against Alex, but he was too hot. And his side ached too badly. Instead, he shifted away. "He's really loyal. Really."

"I've no doubt of that." He dragged his fingers down Michael's jaw. "What about you?"

"You know I'm loyal. Loyal to a fault and all."

Alex smiled. Amusement danced in his eyes. "No, I know that. I mean, what about you and kids? Have you ever thought about having any?"

"Yes," Michael said seriously. "But even if I found a place to put them, I'm not sure where they'd come out after the nine months were up."

Alex smacked him lightly on the cheek. It hurt, unintentionally on Alex's part; he had no way of knowing fire ants were marching up and down on the side of Michael's face. "You are too adorable," he said.

Michael batted his eyelashes. It was hard; they were heavy. "I know." He blew Alex a kiss, then shrugged. "I don't know. About kids, I mean. I've never really been good around people. Never was able to get into a relationship where I thought, you know. It would last that long. I like kids, you know that. I love LJ." He licked his lips. "Do you want kids?"

"Maybe. I don't see how it'd be easy for us. We're convicted felons, so we can't adopt. We could, maybe, find a surrogate. Maybe even Pam would be willing to." He stroked Michael's neck. "It's interesting to think about."

"Yeah. If a bit frustrating." He chewed on his lower lip. "I hate thinking of myself as a convicted felon. Even though it's true."

"I know." He moved in. Kissed Michael. "Maybe we'll get a pardon in addition to a commutation of sentence."

"One thing at a time," Michael laughed. "I can't think that far ahead, you know that."

"Especially not with that fever." Alex leaned in and pressed his lips to Michael's forehead. "I'm worried, Michael. Anything wrong beside the fever?"

He sighed. Rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. "My side hurts. All over. Like, a sharp, shooting pain, and then like pinpricks all over my skin. It's probably nothing."

"Let the doctor decide that. Come on."

Michael groaned, but let Alex tug him out of bed. "I swear, I don't know what's wrong. I was fine."

"You've been stressed out since Paul attacked you."

"It was hardly an attack. He got ticked off and punched me."

"You've still been stressed. Stress can lead to a weaken immune system, which can lead to a whole host of problems."

He sighed. "Yeah. But why is it my body always hosting the party?"

"Because it's so pretty. Who wouldn't want to play there?"

Michael rolled his eyes. But he couldn't stop the smile the tugged at his lips. Praise was hard to hear, but from Alex, it was always welcome.


	38. Chapter 38

"You have shingles," Dr. Parsons announced. "How long have you had this rash?"

Michael shook his head. Rubbed his eye. "I don't know. My skin's been tingling a couple days. Not too bad. It just got really bad today." He scratched his arm.

"Don't scratch. Ah. Looks like you've got a blister developing near your eyes." He leaned over and pulled Michael's lower lid down. "We'll have to watch that."

"So, is it bad?"

"No. Shingles is caused by the same virus as chicken pox. The virus stays in your body, dormant, your whole life after you've had it. Sometimes, though, it triggers. I'd say, you triggered it by stress."

Michael licked his lower lip. Gnawed on it.

"You let this thing get to you. The guy who punched you. You got scared."

"I didn't want to tell the warden. And I was afraid he was going to throw me in the SHU," he admitted softly.

Dr. Parsons sighed. He put his hand on Michael's shoulder and squeezed. "Dr. Juarez and I have set up protocols should you ever have to be disciplined. If you did have to be put in a segregated housing unit, you'd go to a private room in the psych ward. Get a daily check-up. We'd take care of you, Michael. You wouldn't go through hell. The warden wouldn't do that to you."

"Oh." Michael scratched his arm until Dr. Parson's batted at his hand. "Still."

"You also lost about five pounds. That could have something to do with it. But, mostly, I think it's stress. Once your fever comes down, you'll be fine. You'll probably have a rash, maybe even blisters. We'll try our best to make sure you don't scar. I'll have to keep an eye on the one by your eye to make sure nothing spreads into it."

"Am I contagious?"

He shook his head. "You can't catch shingles. But, I'm going to need to make sure everyone in protective seg's had chicken pox, because you can catch that." He stuck a thermometer into Michael's mouth. "You're staying in here tonight. That'll give you time to bring your fever down, and me time to check medical records."

"I don't want to stay here," Michael said. He scratched his neck and sat up. "Let me stay in my cell."

"You've got a fever of a hundred and one. I'm not letting you go anywhere." He pulled Michael's hand from his neck. "Now lay back down."

He frowned. His head ached and his skin hurt. He dug his nails into his arm and glared at Dr. Parsons. "I don't want to stay here," he repeated.

Dr. Parsons ran his hands over his hair. "Are you kidding me? Are you seriously going to act like a two year old being sent to a time out? Michael, you're sick. While your fever is probably related to the shingles, it could be something else. I can't risk sending you back to your cell. You have to stay here tonight. Look, you get a television, and I'll bring your books here. But right now, I need you to lie down."

"No" He raked his fingers down his arm.

"Jesus Christ, Michael." He stalked to the sink and cabinets. Pulled out a bottle of calamine lotion and some cotton balls. He set those next to Michael on the table, then went back to the sink. "I get that you're stressed. And feeling sick. But, I got to tell you, if you're trying on the mantle of uncooperative inmate, you're failing big time. Because what I'm getting from you is a three year-old who needs a nap." When he turned back around, there was a hypodermic needle in his hand.

"I can be tough." He had no idea why he said that, but he was feeling argumentative. And insulted. He was not a three year old who needed a nap. "I took down McNab. All by myself."

Dr. Parsons swabbed Michael's non-hurting shoulder with alcohol then stuck him with the needle. "Yes, you did. But that was an emergency situation. Something you needed to do. Right now, you're being a brat." He ran the cotton over the puncture wound and stepped away. "That should help with the pain. I'm going to prescribe an antiviral to help speed the healing of the rash. But, first, the calamine lotion." He picked up the bottle and a fresh cotton ball. "Unless you want to put the calamine on while I go get the medicine. Of course, that would require you to let go of the paper in your hand."

Michael looked down at his right hand. Sara's letter was still crumpled in his fist.

"Okay." Dr. Parsons started coating the calamine lotion over Michael's arm.

The pain started to cool.

"What is that?" he asked as he worked.

He considered the question a moment. "A letter."

"From whom?"

"Sara Tancredi. She was the doctor at Fox River."

The cotton ball stilled on Michael's bicep. Dr. Parsons cleared his throat and started applying the lotion again. "She was wish you while you were on the run, right?"

"Yeah." He swallowed. "We were together. Kind of."

"I see. What did she write to say?"

"That she's coming to visit."

Dr. Parsons sighed. He finished applying the calamine lotion to Michael's arm and neck. "Okay. I'm going to get your medication and some Gatorade. I would really appreciate it if you lie down. You are staying here for the night, Michael."

He sighed. Did as the doctor asked. Eyes closed, he listened as Parsons left the room He squeezed Sara's letter tightly and wondered what was going to happen next.

* * *

If winter had been rough, summer was a special kind of hell. Even with lighter uniforms, air conditioning, and lowered lights, the prison walls seemed absorb heat. And, in the evenings, it let all that heat into the prison.

Alex sighed. He sipped his water--ice cold and not cold enough--and turned a page in his book.

Michael was gone for who knew how long. Alex hadn't even been allowed to take him to the infirmary. One of the guards--Charles Raleigh--really didn't like either of them, and hated that they were so openly in a relationship. Every chance he got, he separated them from one another, and this was an easy one. There was no real reason for Alex to take Michael to the infirmary except he wanted to. In Raleigh's opinion, what Alex wanted didn't count for shit.

So, Michael got toted away to the infirmary and Alex was left to wonder what was wrong. Another guard came in about ten minutes later and told Alex to strip down both beds and get send whatever clothes Michael and he had been wearing that day out. Just in case.

That had been hours ago. Alex had since cleaned the cell (again; he and Michael cleaned it obsessively, scrubbing down the floor every week, and that morning had been their day to scrub), had dinner, showered, and was now lounging around, waiting for lights out. The guards were lenient here and let them have free time before lights out. Most time seemed free time, as long as they continued to behave. One of the benefits of being the rape victims, snitches, and people who just didn't want to deal with the shit in Gen pop.

Most nights, at least lately, he and Michael had spend the last bit of free time in the common room. The guards had the lights out and fans on, and they would play cards or chess with the guys. In fact, Randall and O'Connell had tried to get Alex out of his cell, but they'd failed. He wasn't in the mood.

Sara had written to Michael. He'd found the envelope on the floor while he'd been cleaning. Not the letter, though; he wondered where it'd gone. He also wondered what she wanted. Not that it mattered, of course. He trusted Michael, and trusted her not to try and start anything up again after all this time. It was just, he also trusted Michael to work himself into the usual ball of tension over her writing.

And she wrote about the most inane things. The weather and her practice and the books she was reading. And yet, after he got a letter, Michael was stressed and grumpy. They were like a couple of teenagers getting over their first relationship and trying to remain friends.

Which probably wasn't too far from what was going on. Michael didn't have too much experienced with long-term relationships. According to her file, Sara was something of a loner. And their break-up--and relationship--had hardly been conventional.

So, in addition to everything else, Michael was stressed about the letter. Great. Too bad he couldn't find amusement in his fan mail. Sofia was in fine form this month with her letter; in addition to the three perfumed pages declaring her every lasting devotion and a rather elaborate fantasy that involved her, Michael, a deserted island and an inventive use of sunscreen, she'd included five photographs of herself in some very trashy lingerie.

They would sell for a pretty penny. Alex had finally convinced Michael to stop giving them away; it was causing too many problems, anyway. People who got Michael's trashy pictures acted as if they were his best friends. Those who didn't get them that week felt slighted. The next time he got pictures, it flipped and everyone go cranky again. Selling them kept everyone happy. Strangely enough.

Alex tucked away the pictures and set Michael's letters on the table. He'd gotten one from Cameron, envelope decorated with stick figures and Nemo stickers. It was even addressed by him in painstakingly crafted, large block letters.

He'd just opened the letter when Travis stuck his head in. "Hey. Mind if I come in?"

Alex sighed. "Yeah. Come on in." He tucked the flap of the envelope back into the body and set it down.

"Who's Sofia Prince?" Travis asked, picking up the lipstick covered envelope.

"One of Michael's more devoted fans."

"Is she the chick in the dirty pictures?"

"She's the one."

"What, Michael doesn't think she's hot? Because she's real easy on the eyes, you know? Not my type, but isn't he really straight?"

Alex arched an eyebrow. "No. He's pretty much bisexual and always has been. I'm the prison wolf here."

"So he's the one who should be worried?"

"Not at all. Just because I've never been with a man before doesn't mean I can't commit to one."

Travis gave him a lopsided smile. "You're a committed person, huh?"

"Always have been. I like monogamy."

"Do you like celibacy? 'Cause you seem to me like the kind of guy who's, you know. Has a healthy sexual appetite and everything."

He didn't answer. Just studied Travis carefully.

"Prison's hard like that," he continued. "Being locked away from everyone. Not getting what you need."

"We're here to be punished."

"What about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness We give up that just because we made a few mistake?"

Alex picked up Sofia's letter. "I think Michael has her number."

Travis snorted. "I like guys." His socked foot ran up Alex's leg. "I like you."

"Travis..."

"No, listen to me. You belong with me, okay?" He pushed his chair back and moved so he could lean over Alex. "Michael isn't right for you. He's too messed up in the head. And he's sick all the time."

"Travis, don't..."

"And you need to be with someone who you can sleep with. You deserve that." He lowered himself onto Alex's lap. "I could teach you things Michael hasn't even dreamed of." His hands slid up Alex's arms.

He grabbed them around the wrists and squeezed. "Get off me," Alex growled.

Travis pouted. "I like playing rough." He leaned in, lips parted.

Alex flung Travis off him. The kid's arms wind-milled as he tried to catch himself. He failed and slammed onto the ground.

"Get the fuck out of my cell you little creep."

Travis pushed himself up. "What the hell, Alex? Don't tell me you don't want it. I've seen the way you look at me."

"Travis, to me, you'll always be that abused kid who cried in my arms," he said, trying for reason. "I'm sorry, but I don't want you."

For a minute, Travis looked at him, opened mouthed, eyes huge Then, his face twisted. His eyes narrowed. "You fucking bastard," he shouted. He came off the floor. Fist slammed into the side of Alex's face.

Alex caught him before he could get in another punch. He twisted Travis's arm behind him and propelled him across the room to the wall. "Travis. I'm sorry. I really am. I like you. You're a great kid. But I'm not interested in you like that."

"It's because of him," Travis sobbed. "Because of stupid Michael. I don't get what's so great about him anyway. He's just some stupid, weak, fucking dumb moron."

"Travis..."

"What's going on in here?" Raleigh demanded.

"He's attacking me, boss," Travis said quickly. He broke away from Alex and blinked so tears flowed down his face. "He told me to suck him off, and when I refused, he went crazy."

Alex gaped at him. "That's not what..."

"That's it, Mahone. You think you so bad? You get too many favors passed around here. Now you're attacking people? In Protective Seg? You're going to the SHU."

"What? I didn't..."

Raleigh pulled out his nightstick. "We gonna have a problem here, Mahone?"

He blinked. Looked at Travis. "Travis. Tell him the truth."

Raleigh grabbed Alex and yanked him from the cell. "Move your feet, con." He stabbed Alex in the lower back with the nightstick, propelling him forward. "And not another word out of you if you know what's good for you."

Head spinning from everything that was happening, Alex did as he was told.

"Alex!" he heard someone--Randall or O'Connell, he wasn't sure which--shout. "What's going on?"

"Travis," he started, but immediately, Raleigh smacked him with the stick so hard he fell.

"Hey!"

"Stay back, you, or you'll join your buddy. Hear me?"

Alex forced himself back up. Threw a look at Randall, who was staring at them openmouthed. "Thanks," he said softly. He got another jab in the lower back.

"Don't worry, Alex. We'll fix it."

He nodded. Plodded a few steps forward. Then, risking another blow, he looked back and said, "Take care of Michael."

Randal nodded. Saluted. "Will do."

Thus reassured, Alex faced forward and continued his long trek to the SHU.


	39. Chapter 39

"There's a bed in here," someone said.

Michael started. Opened his eyes.

There was a group of about five people in the room. They were gathered around the bed next to Michael's, hooking someone up to monitors and doing other nurse-type things.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. "What's going on?" he asked. His head was fuzzy. Heavy. Sharp skitters of static ran over his arm. He scratched at it.

"Don't scratch," a nurse--Chase--said. "And it's nothing. Just another patient. Go back to sleep."

Michael rubbed his eyes again. Another nurse moved, revealing the man in bed.

Paul.

"He's stable," someone said. "Breathing, heart rate all fine. Pupils responding. I don't think he has a concussion."

"What happened to his hand?"

A guard who hanging back in the doorway shrugged. "Cellmate said he was punching the wall. And banging his head against it."

"What set him off?"

"Dunno. He was acting weird all day. Not eating and shuffling all around the yard. Not like himself. Then, a few hours ago, he just went crazy. Yelling and punching the wall, hitting his head against it. Cellmate tried to stop him, but Rossi threw him off. Then just dropped to the floor."

"And he hasn't responded to anything?"

The guard shook his head. "Nothing. We shouted and everything, but nothing."

Chase ran a hand over his head, obviously flummoxed. "He has no history of psychological problems according to his file. So what happened?" He glanced at Michael. "Michael. Stop scratching!"

Michael pulled his hand away from is arm. This time, he sat on it. "Sorry."

"Okay, well. Finishing hooking him up. His vitals are stable for now. We'll monitor him until Dr. Parsons can get here and decide what we should do with him." He glanced at Michael again and sighed in exasperation. "Toby, so me a favor and get me a pair of socks and some duct tape?"

The other nurse nodded, laughing. "Yeah, sure. Oh, you think we need to restrain him?"

"Michael?"

"No, Rossi." He gave Chase a look like he'd just grown another head.

"I'll take care of that. Thanks, James. We've got him."

"Sign the paperwork, and I'll be gone."

Chase sighed, definitely a man who was being pulled a thousand directions. He grabbed the clipboard still on the gurney and scribbled his pen over it before handing it off to the guard. Then he crossed the room the a closet and pulled out some restraints. Michael watched as Chase restrained Paul, who was doing an admirable job of staring off into space and not reacting to anything (although he'd slipped a little when restraints were mentioned).

He lay back against his scratchy pillow and idly ran his nails over the skin beneath his shirt. When he'd faked his breakdown, Sara had still been at the prison which had expedited Michael's transfer into the psych ward. And he'd really been catatonic; it was a gift, the ability to trap himself away. Paul might not be able to hold if he had to wait for hours for someone to exam him and decide that he cracked.

Michael really hoped that, when he failed, Paul didn't come after him and hurt him again.

"How's the pain?" Chase asked. He pulled Michael's hand from underneath his shirt and felt for his pulse.

"Um, okay. Not bad."

"Pulse is down, but that's because of the drugs. I'm going to reapply the calamine lotion for you. And... oh, thanks Toby." Chase took the socks and tape from the other man and turned back to Michael with a bright smile. "We're going to muffle your hands so you stop scratching."

"I won't. I promise."

"Michael, you are scratching right now."

He immediately yanked his traitorous hand away from his arm. He thought he heard a snort from Paul's bed. Chase must have heard it too, because he started to turn.

Quickly, Michael said, "I'll stop. I promise Just don't treat me like a kid."

"It's this or restraints. And I don't want to have to restrain you." He grabbed Michael's left hand and rolled a sock over it. "You wouldn't do well with restraints, you know that. And we've already got one psychotic break for the night." He put the other sock over Michael's right hand, then started taping it tightly around his wrist.

"That's not a psychotic break. He's catatonic. There's a difference."

Chase smiled. "Touchy touchy." He tore off the tape then taped the other wrist. "You're lucky. A few years ago, this real violent prisoner got a case of the shingles. It was bad. Huge, oozing blisters all over his back and side. He'd scratch and they'd pop open, which was disgusting. Worse, he was violent. We couldn't get near him, so he did have to be restrained. And sedated. By the time we were able to release him back to Gen Pop, he'd already started scarring. You don't want to scar, do you Michael?"

He laughed. "You don't have to talk to me like I'm a three year old."

"I don't know. You're the one with socks on your hands."

"I'm going to turn them into puppets."

"I'll bring in the arts and crafts supplies after your breakfast. But, first, you have to promise to sleep." He wet a piece of cotton with calamine lotion and swabbed it over Michael's arm. "Your rash is really mild. As long as the pain is manageable, you'll probably be able to go back to your cell tomorrow. Only one person over in protective segregation hasn't had chicken pox, but as long as you don't touch him, it should be okay."

"It's not Alex, is it?"

"Naw. It's Travis Donnelly."

Michael screwed up his face. "I hate him."

"But he's so sweet."

"Sweet on Alex. And manipulative." Michael yawned. "My head hurts."

"How about your rash?"

He shrugged. "Not too badly, but my head hurts. And I'm cold."

"You're still running a fever. I can't do anything to make you warmer, because you're all ready too warm. But I'll give you some Tylenol for your head. Oh my God, cut it out!"

Michael looked down and realized he was rubbing over the rash. Again. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired. I don't even realize I'm doing it."

"I know. And it's okay as long as you just rub and don't scratch. Just, you know. It's better not." He recapped the calamine lotion and threw the cotton ball away. "I'll go get the Tylenol and then you go back to sleep. It's only three, so it's no wonder you're tired."

"Yeah." Michael lay back and curled his hands into balls. His palms were sweating from the heat of the scratchy socks, but he wasn't going to complain. Better sweaty hands than scars and oozing blisters.

Chase came back in with the Tylenol. He took Michael's temperature and vitals one more time, then, with a final warning not to scratch, left.

Michael closed his eyes and rolled onto his side. He was just about to doze off, when Paul whispered, "Hey. Blueprints. Am I allowed to sleep?"

"You're not allowed to talk. But, sleep should be okay. As long as you don't do anything when you wake up," he replied. His heart began to pick up speed, and he had to remind himself that Paul was restrained. Not a threat.

His heart remained lodged in his throat and beating like a hummingbird's wings.

"This sucks. You didn't say nothing about being observed."

"When I did it, the doctor was at the prison. She examined me right away and had me admitted into psych." He swallowed. "Plus, I was in the SHU. And had a prior condition."

"Well, you might have mentioned that before," Paul practically growled.

"Sorry." He rolled onto his other side. Squeezed his eyes shut. Tried to relax.

It wasn't working. In the bed next to his, Paul was lying there. Lying, in more ways that one. And his lie was all based on information Michael had given him. And if it didn't work...

His stomach lurched.

He forced it away. Forced himself to swallow back fear. To breathe steadily, in and out. Count. Visualize himself in a safe place.

In the past, his safe place had been his loft. Him, in bed. Rain on the roof, against the window. Soft music playing and his cat--the cat he had to give away when he'd started planning--curled on his chest, purring.

Now, it'd changed a bit. Alex was there, spooned behind him. Stroking his arm. Soft kisses on his neck. Holding him tight, keeping him safe.

It was harder to imagine the place. He tried to put them in his loft, but it didn't work. Alex didn't belong there. And every time he thought of them in his cell, his heart started to pound again.

Okay then. A beach house. Lots of windows. Early morning. There was a breeze. Alex was humming. His fingers traced over Michael's tattoo.

Soft. Perfect. Calm.

The tight knot in Michael's stomach loosened. His heart slowed. His head swum slowly. Mind drifted.

Cameron, sitting on his lap, telling him a story.

LJ, face lit with a smile, talking about his drama camp.

Lincoln, hand in Pam's, looking at Michael with love and gratitude.

Alex, holding him while he broke down.

Travis, trying to convince him to break up with Alex.

Randall, flummoxed when Michael forced him into check mate.

Paul, standing just behind Nicky in the closet. Paul, looking down on him as Nicky worked him over. Yanked down his pants. Cut off his finger. Shoved a knife in his ass.

Paul, sleeping in the bed next to him. Pretending. That he wasn't...

Michael rolled out of the bed. Hit the floor hard. Without standing, he scrambled out of the room, past Paul's bed, into the hall. Only then did he force himself to his feet.

"Michael. What are you doing out of bed?" Chase asked when Michael reached the desk. He looked over Michael, and his face changed. He came from around the desk. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"I can't.. I can't... I can't st-stay in there. I can't." He was shaking and felt so stupid because there were still socks on his hands. And he looked like a moron.

He tore at the tape.

"Michael. Michael, calm down. Listen to me." Chase grabbed his upper arms. Held him tightly. "Michael. Look at me."

Michael took a deep breath and forced himself to look at the nurse.

"Okay. What's wrong?"

"I can't stay in there. With him. He was there."

"He was... Paul was where?"

He licked his lips. "He, um. Was in the room. The, uh. Closet. When Nicky. When he, um. You know." He licked his lips again. "Paul was there. I don't want to be in there with him."

"No. No, of course you don't." Chase squeezed Michael's arms. "But you know he's not going to hurt you now, right? He's catatonic, at least, he appears to be."

Michael lowered his eyes. He felt his face warm.

"Do you know something? Was Paul talking?"

He shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Michael."

"He wants to get to Ricky," he said, breaking. Fear breaking him, even though he knew it wasn't over if he snitched. "He's trying to get into the psych ward. So he can take care of Ricky. He asked me to tell him, so I told him how to pretend to be trapped in your mind. So he's in there, but I can't be in there. Please."

"You're not going to have to go back in there, Michael. We'll put you in another room. And, remember, Paul's restrained right now. He's not getting to you. At least not tonight."

Michael nodded. Forced a smile and something like a laugh. "Yeah. I know. But, uh, I don't know if I can sleep."

Chase put his arm around Michael's shoulder and began leading him in the opposite direction of his former room. "Don't tell the guards, but we've got a copy of 'The Fugitive' around here somewhere. And 'Ocean's 11.' And maybe some Disney flicks. Want to watch one?"

"Sure. Sounds good." Michael rubbed his still socked hands over his face.

"And I'll bring in the arts and crafts supplies so you can make your puppets."

He smirked. Tried to suppress a laugh but failed. "You gonna help? I do have two to make."

Chase laughed and clapped Michael on the back. "We'll see."


	40. Chapter 40

Solitary confinement sucked. Which was, of course, an understatement. It was designed to suck. To upset and unsettle. Frustrate and dishearten. Dehumanize.

This was Alex's third time in the SHU. The first two times, he'd gotten himself thrown in for excessive fighting. The first time, he'd gotten in four fights in one day. Three weeks later, he managed to top that with seven. Even though he'd been defending himself (even the few times he'd had to initiate the physical side of the fighting), Alex had understood that he'd been a disruption. That he'd needed to be removed from Gen Pop to restore peace. He'd sort of enjoyed the solitude of the SHU. He'd been allowed a couple of books and he'd had all he needed. Solitude, quite, safety. It hadn't been quite the punishment intended.

This time, it was more punishment than he deserved.

It was nearly noon. He'd been unable to sit down all morning. He'd tried, forcing himself to sit, only to be up and pacing the next moment. His head hurt. Right behind his eyes, one tight, pressing band. His throat ached for reasons he couldn't fathom. His stomach hurt and he couldn't force down the food they kept pushing through the opening in the door.

The first thing he'd done that morning on waking was demand to see the warden. The next was a demand for his psychologist. Both had been passed along, as the guards had to do--and the guards here liked him and were skeptical of the story Ralston had given them--but nothing had come of it yet. Either the warden was busy or Alex had fallen from his favor.

God, he hoped Michael was okay. With any luck, he hadn't been released from the infirmary. He didn't know what Travis had done.

That little shit. And to think Alex had been defending him to Michael all this time. Yes, he'd known Travis had a crush on him, but he'd never...

Okay. Yes. He was manipulative. Alex had known that. But with all the abuse he'd been through, it was expected. Michael had a manipulative side, too, and for the same reason. And, if he was going to be completely honest, Alex could be manipulative when he wanted. Even before he'd been trained by the army Psychological Operations Group, he'd been able to get people to do exactly what he wanted. Kids who were abused figured out how to play the game young, and even if it never stopped the abuser, it gave them power in other aspects of their life.

Ever since Travis had returned from the psych ward, Alex had been aware of the games he played to get Alex to pay attention to him. And Alex had given him the attention as long as what Travis wanted didn't bother or hurt Michael too much. The need in Travis had been, at times, almost frightening. There was this gleam in his eyes, this hunger that had nothing to do with attraction. He just wanted to own Alex.

Alex had been aware of Travis's desperation. He'd thought about talking to his psychologist about his concerns. He and Travis shared a shrink, and even though it wasn't Alex's job to report problems, he knew that, in the long run, it'd help the kid.

But he hadn't said anything. And now he was here.

He'd forgotten how desperation makes one dangerous.

The door opened. Simms appeared in the doorway.

"You know, it's my first day back and they put me here because it's easy duty," he said conversationally. A wicked smile tugged at his lips. "And then, I find out that the most dangerous con in the entire prison is a guest in the SHU." He sighed. Leaned against the door jamb and shook his head.

"Welcome back," Alex said flatly. He knew Simms was trying to inject a little levity, but he wasn't in the mood.

"Michael's still in the infirmary," said Simms, taking pity. "He doesn't know what happened. Raleigh may have a bug up his ass about the two of you, but the rest of us know you're the good guys in a bad situation."

"Is he okay?"

Simms nodded. "He's fine. I stopped by to see him before my shift. They've got him watching movies and drinking juice. You should see him, though. They had to put socks on his hands to make him stop scratching. He turned one of them into a puppet. He was watching that Monty Python movie, the Grail one, and quoting the lines with the puppet. All with this perfectly serious look on his face, like it wasn't even him. He's got the nurses in stitches."

"Sorry I'm missing it." His patience was wearing thin. If Simms didn't do something soon, Alex was going to have to make a break for it.

His lips quirked. He stepped aside. "Come on. The warden wants to see you."

"Finally." Alex followed Simms out of the cell.

"Oh, this has everyone in a tissy. When the warden read the report, he called Raleigh back in to ask what happened. Then he called your psychologist and the anger management counselor in to talk to them. He asked Travis to come in and explain what happened, and then had him repeat the story to the psychologist--monitoring it so he could compare the stories. He's got witnesses and stuff in, too, even though no one actually saw anything." Simms shook his head. "So. What really happened?"

"Travis propositioned me, I turned him down," Alex said. His footsteps were nearly silent on the concrete ground. Dark shadows clung between the dim glow of lights. It felt like he was in a cave. Or hell. "He got angry and tried to attack. I got him into a hold against the wall and was trying to talk to him when Ralston came in. He asked what was going on, and Travis said I told him to suck me off and attacked him when he refused."

"And Raleigh bought it. Of course." Simms sighed and shook his head. "I don't get what he's got against you. Even if he didn't agree with what you did to that con, you saved Ralston and my lives. You helped Travis, even if the kid doesn't appreciate it. And you're good to Michael." He stopped in front of the elevator and punched button.

Alex shrugged. "I think that's what bothers him. Me and Michael. I think he's pretty much a total homophobe. And it bugs him. He thinks neither of us belongs in protective segregation, and are just here so we can be together without being killed. And that's not the purpose of protective seg."

"But you saved two guards lives," Simms repeated. "You couldn't go back there even if you were two straight guys who hated one another.

"Try telling that to Raleigh."

The elevator opened and they stepped inside.

"So why did the warden call in Dr. Hulbert? Can't he just get me out of the SHU based on common sense? He knows I'd never attack Travis."

Simms shrugged. "He's got to do this by the book to prove he's not playing favorites. Plus, Raleigh is seriously concerned that you're a danger, so the warden's gonna make sure he covers all his bases."

"And Hulbert is going to verify that I'm not the type to attack little fuckheads?"

"Oh, say it like that to the warden. Exactly those words."

Alex bit back the automatic, 'fuck you' that came to his lips. He and Simms got along well, but he didn't want to risk insulting the few allies he had.

The elevator doors opened. They finished their trip to the warden's office in silent. His secretary was typing when they entered, but she looked up and smiled at Simms.

"The warden said he could go right in," she said. "He'll call you to pick Mr. Mahone up when they're done."

Simms clapped Alex on the back. "Ready to beard the lion's den?"

He raised his eyebrow. "If I say no, can I go wait in the infirmary?"

He laughed. Shook his head, and opened the door. "Sir? I've brought Alex."

"Alex," the warden said. "Please, come in. Have a seat."

The only open seat was between Dr. Hulbert, his psychologist, and Jason Ruditis, the anger management counselor. Alex took it and looked across the desk at the warden. He was about to start defending his innocence, unasked, when he saw the look on the warden's face.

He sighed. Leaned back against the chair. Gestured with his hand.

"Alex," the warden said chidingly. "You can't even last one night away from Michael? You have to go after a younger model, like some kind of perverted teddy bear?"

Alex glanced at Jason, who shrugged. "I guess not, sir. It's the nightmares. They're just too bad without something to drool on."

The warden laughed lightly before turning serious. "Okay, Alex. For the record, please tell us what happened last night."

Alex let out a long breath, then launched into the story for the second time that day. "Raleigh didn't give me a chance to explain my side," he said as he concluded. "I wasn't hurting Travis. I had him in a hold to restrain. If he fought, then it'd hurt, but it'd be his own doing. And, yes, I was angry, but he tried to attack me."

"Travis managed to produce bruises on his wrists by this morning, which gave Raleigh further claim that you intended to hurt him," the warden said. "However, Dr. Parsons examined the wounds. They weren't consistent with the type of hold Raleigh admitted you used. Travis also bruised his knees and began to claim that you pushed him down and held him, even when he fought."

God. The lengths he'd gone too. "I'd never hurt him, Warden. Not unless I was defending myself. And I would never demand sex from him."

Dr. Hulbert shifted in his chair. "I've gone on record stating that it would be extremely unlikely you would ever demand favors from another inmate, especially Travis. From the beginning, you've been protective in an altruistic manner that has, on several occasions, caused you harm. In light of your consistent past actions to protect those who need protecting, and taking in consideration you relationship with Michael Scofield, I am confident you didn't do what you are accused of. As for Travis, I expressed concerns, Warden, when his attachment to Alex began to move towards obsession several weeks ago."

"And I have that in Travis's file," the warden confirmed. "I'd hoped he would settle down and come to accept that you're not interested in him without having to move him back to psych. But I may have to rethink that now."

"As long as he stays away from me and Michael, and cuts out the mind games..."

"What mind games?" Dr. Hulbert interrupted.

He rubbed his forehead. He was going to need some kind of pain killers. He only got migraines one in a blue moon, but his vision was starting to kick some distracting auras over everything. "He's played some games with Michael. Tried to convince him to break up with me because it's what's best for Michael's mental health. And he's used the same approach with me, only saying that I deserve to be with someone who can focus on me an not himself."

Dr. Hulbert was scribbling something in his omnipresent notebook. "Has this been going on long?"

"Pretty much since he came back."

"Has Michael talked about it with Dr. Juarez?"

"I doubt it. We talked about it, because even though Michael didn't do what Travis was trying to get him to do, it still depressed him." A particularly sharp pain stabbed through his temple.

"The problem is, protective segregation is fairly small," the warden said. "I don't know how to keep you apart. And if he's as manipulative as you say he is, he may continue trying just for spite."

"And while I think you have your anger under control enough that you wouldn't have just attacked Travis for coming after you," Jason said, "I don't think you could handle days, weeks, or months of amateurish manipulation without finally blowing your top."

"So you don't think I did it either," Alex said.

Jason shrugged. "I don't know Travis, but I do know you. You were very angry when you got here. The cons hated you, and you needed to protect Travis, so you had good excuses for outputs to your anger. Not constructive, but they did keep you from getting killed. When Michael came in, the anger started to fade. Now that you're in protective segregation--where I thought you always should have been," he added with a look at the warden, "you're really beginning to make strides in the program. So, no. I don't think you attacked this kid."

The warden leaned back in his chair. Steepled his fingers and rubbed his chin over them. "I need to think about what to do with Travis. I'll have you, Alex, go spend the day with Michael in the infirmary. I'm telling the staff there that if the need anything done, you're available to do it." His lips quirked upwards. "I'd tell Michael to be available, but it might interrupt his puppet show."

"That's fine. Uh. Thanks, I mean."

"It would be easier if the two of you would get out of my prison," he said. "But we're still waiting for the bureaucracy to move. Until then, it's all about shuffling the deck until the cards lay right." He sighed and drummed his fingers on the desk. "Okay, gentlemen, thank you for your time. Dr. Hulbert, do you have any cases here today?"

"No, but I can stick around. I don't have anywhere to be until four." He glanced at Alex. "Do you want to talk?"

"What I want is to see Michael," Alex said. He rubbed his forehead. "I just... I'd like to see him and then I'll know where I am. You know?"

The warden and Dr. Hulbert exchanged looks. Then his psychologist rose. "I can go with you down to the infirmary," he said. "Wouldn't mind meeting Michael."

He sighed and rose as well. "Yeah. Okay. Thank you, warden. For believing me."

"I'm not here to be suckered in by lovelorn kids, Alex. I'm here to rehabilitate cons." He smiled. "We'll work this out."

"Thanks."

Dr. Hulbert on one side, Simms on his left, Alex was led to the infirmary. The guard and doctor chatted a little bit, but Alex was silent. Every light they passed intensified the pain in his head. Worse, he was smelling things. A pungent, stabbing, almost fecal smell.

Dr. Parsons was walking out of a room, dressed in scrubs and looking irritated. When he saw Alex, he sighed. "Something's wrong with you."

"No," Simms said. "Warden said he should stay here with Michael until he decided what to do about the situation."

"Something's wrong with you."

Alex smiled thinly. "Migraine."

"Jesus Christ. You and Michael both need to learn to deal with stress better. Weight loss and shingles and migraines." He stormed down the hall, still muttering to himself. When he came back, he had a bottle of pills and a paper cup of water in his hand. "Yes, you're in prison, I get that. It's hard. People self-destruct all the time. But you two would be fine if you didn't shunt all your stress straight into your immune system. Here."

"Um. Sorry?" Alex took the pills and swallowed them down.

"You know, you've got a pretty good point there, Jim," Dr. Hulbert said. "Some of the cons, especially in protective seg, or the calmer ones in Gen Pop, would benefit from a class focused in progressive relaxation. I could talk to Jason and Dr. Juarez, Robbins, and anyone else who might be interested. See what I can set up."

Dr. Parsons nodded. "That would be great. Hey, do you want scare one of the mobsters? I've got one faking catatonia, and so far, he hasn't cracked."

Dr. Hulbert laughed. "You what?"

"Hold on. Christy! Can you take Alex down to where we're keeping Michael?"

The slim blonde woman came out of a room. "Sure. This way."

Michael was asleep when Alex got to the room. The Monty Python movie was nearing an end, but both Michael and his sock puppet were sprawled across the bed. Only Michael was drooling though.

"I'm locking you in," Christy said. "Don't do anything." The door closed.

Alex hardly noticed her leaving. His entire focus was on Michael. Michael and the rash up and down his right arm. Around his neck, and a few on his face.

Poor kid.

He climbed on the bed and pressed a kiss against Michael's forehead. He was still warm, but not like last night.

Michael stirred. Turned his head towards Alex. He took advantage of it and kissed the sweetly parted mouth. Wiped away the drool in the corner of his mouth and kissed him again.

Blue eyes peeked through a veil of black. "Alex." His mouth split into a smile even as Alex took it again.

"How are you feeling?"

He shrugged. "Meh. The pain of the rash is starting to fade."

"That's good."

"Except now it itches."

"Ah." He kissed the tip of Michael's nose. "Doctor say how long it'll last?"

"No. Few weeks to a few months. It varies. I won't have to stay in here the whole time, though. Although, they're going to have to figure out what to do with Travis."

A jolt went through Alex. "What do you mean?"

"He's never had chicken pox," Michael explained. "He could get them from me. It's not a hundred percent or anything, but God knows, I have the urge to go back and just, like, rub all over him. And spit in his food, just to make sure he gets it."

He forced himself to laugh. It rang falsely. "Well..."

But Michael pushed himself into a sitting position, frown on his face. "What?"

He tried to look innocent even though the sudden pounding of his heart had to be audible. "I don't know..."

"Something happened. With Travis. What?"

Alex sighed. "It's nothing."

Michael set his jaw stubbornly.

He sighed again. Sat up. Rubbed his hand over his face. "Just keep in mind that it's been handled, okay? The warden is dealing with it."

"Dealing with what, Alex?"

"Travis, um. Travis came on to me last night. And when I turned him down, he got angry and came at me. While I was subduing him, Raleigh found us and Travis told him that I attacked him after demanding sex. So I was thrown in the SHU."

"What?"

He took Michael's hand. Squeezed. "You know Raleigh hates us. Hates me. He was looking for an excuse and took it. But it's fine. I spent the night there, and the warden came back and is handling it. Right now, I think he's trying to decide if Travis should go back go psych or not. It's okay."

"No, it's not okay. It's not. He can't... just use people like that. He can't..." Michael broke off. Looked away.

"What?"

He swallowed. "He can't manipulate you into wanting him. And, uh, maybe that's because I manipulated you into it first."

Not again. Sometimes, Alex felt as he if were on a carousel when it came to Michael's thoughts and moods. "You didn't manipulate me. I was attracted to you. You were attracted to me. Things fell into place. That's all." He ran his forefinger down Michael's nose. "And, even if I hadn't been attracted to you, Travis wouldn't have been able to manipulate me into anything. He's a kid. I'll never see him as anything but that. You, however." His thumb stroked over Michael's cheek. "From the first moment, you've been an equal. Intellectually my match. Perhaps my superior," he acknowledged with a grin. "We would have been friends, even if we never became lovers."

"I would have tried. After awhile, weeks of living in the same cell, I would have done everything I could to get you into my bed. If only because... because it's easier to make sure someone will protect you if you're doing sexual favors for them."

"Do you know what I did in the army, Michael?"

He shook his head.

"I was in the Psychological Operations Group. We were trained to provoke specific emotions or behavior or attitudes in people."

"To manipulate them," Michael sighed.

"Yes. They sent us into Iraq before Desert Storm for... various reasons," he said, reminding himself almost too late that his actions there were classified. "Anyway. I was trained, Michael. And if you started trying to manipulate me, sooner or later I would have called you on it." He pressed this thumb against Michael's lips. "Because I would have protected you anyway You know that, right?"

Michael nodded. "I know."

"Good." Alex leaned in and kissed him.

The door opened. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt," Dr. Hulbert said.

Michael pulled away from Alex. His face went neutral, wariness in his eyes.

Alex took his hand and squeezed. "No problems, Doctor. Michael, this is Dr. Hulbert, my psychologist."

"Hi. It's nice to meet you," Dr. Hulbert said, holding out his hand to shake.

Michael considered the gesture for a moment before holding out his hand. It was, of course, the hand with the puppet drawn on it, and his cheeks turned crimson. His face, though, stayed neutral and hard to read. "Same here."

Dr. Hulbert pulled a chair from the wall and sat down. "Alex tell you what's going on?"

"Yeah."

"I know I'm not your psychologist, Michael, but if you need to talk about anything, I'm free."

Alex watched as Michael seemed to fold in on himself. His eyes averted. He began to pick and pull at the socks on his hands. He didn't say anything.

Dr. Hulbert glanced at Alex, then back at Michael. "You don't have to if you're not comfortable. I just know there's a lot going on right now, between you shingles and Travis and Paul Rossi."

"I, uh." Michael's cheeks colored. "I can't talk. Without, um." He sighed, frustrated. "I need to be able to draw if I'm going to talk. And I'm really itchy right now, so, uh, I don't think they'll take the socks off."

"Okay," Dr. Hulbert said, laughing. "I understand."

Michael looked up. Laughed, his blush deepening. "Has Paul, uh, done anything yet?"

Dr. Hulbert shook his head "He's really good. I mean, it's obvious that he's faking. We've caught him a few times, but he just goes on faking. Doesn't matter what we say or do after."

"He wants to see Ricky."

"I know." He sighed. "Well. If you two don't need me, I should probably head over to psych and see if Ricky's in any shape to seeing Paul."

Michael lifted a socked hand to his neck and scratched. "He, uh. When Dr. Parsons had me come in and talk to Ricky after he tried to kill himself, he asked if I would visit him over in the psych ward. If he still wants to see me, I'd be fine with that." He glanced at Alex, who shrugged and nodded.

Alex could tell that the doctor caught he look. He knew it would be discussed at their next session, but what else could he do? He'd been such an asshole about Ricky before, it was no wonder Michael felt as if he needed to check. If anything, he was checking to make sure it wouldn't bother Alex, not asking for permission.

At least, Alex hoped that's what it was.

"All right. I'll let his doctor know that. It was nice to meet you, Michael."

"You, too." He waited until the doctor was gone before sighing and flopping rather dramatically onto his pillow. "I'm itchy."

Gently, Alex ran his fingernails over Michael's back. "I'm sorry. Apparently, the two of us need to handle our stress better."

Michael snorted. "Dr. Parsons yelled at you too?"

"Yeah. I've got a migraine."

"And me too tired and sick to make you all better." He scooted over on the bed and lay his head on Alex's thigh. "I could do a puppet show for you," he said, holding out his puppet.


	41. Chapter 41

"I'm bored."

Next to him, Alex only snored softly.

Michael sighed. "Me too," he said in a high voice, moving the mouth of his puppet. "This sucks." He idly rubbed at the rash that'd spread along his side. "Yeah," he agreed with himself.

Then he sighed again and let his hand drop. The amusement of the puppets had worn thin. Without an audience, he was just a crazy man talking to his hands.

He closed his eyes and snuggled against Alex's shoulder. What he wanted was for Alex to wake up. Wake up and kiss him. To slide his hands underneath Michael's shirt and scratch the damn rash that was driving Michael insane.

With a groan, he rolled onto his back. Began to wiggle around, trying to get some relief from the eternal itching.

The door opened. "Still itchy?" Dr. Parsons asked.

"No. I'm dancing."

Dr. Parsons smiled. "Sit up. I'm going to give you an antihistamine and then put some compresses on the rash. That should help."

Michael did as he was told. The doctor handed him a couple pills and a cup of water. "Did Nicky crack yet?"

Dr. Parsons frowned at him.

"What?"

"Um. Michael," he said, clearly awkward. He opened his mouth, then shut it. Grabbed the thermometer from the machine next to the bed and stuck it in Michael's ear.

"What's wrong?" he asked. Then he realized what he said. His body heated, face feeling like it was on fire. Michael ducked his head and mumbled, "I meant Paul. I just, uh, you know. Slip of the tongue. I meant Paul."

"I know." But he still looked worried.

"I'm not delirious!"

Alex snorted, body jerking at Michael's exclamation. Michael glanced at him, but Alex just rolled over and fell back asleep.

Michael turned back to Dr. Parsons. "It was a mistake. I meant Paul."

"A Freudian slip, maybe," Dr. Parsons said. "You're still a little feverish, but I'm not worried. But, uh... Chase told me about last night. That you were really scared of Paul."

"No I wasn't."

Dr. Parsons raised an eyebrow.

"I was sick. That's all."

He sighed and pulled a chair from the wall to the bed. "Why didn't you tell anyone it was Paul who hit you?"

He shrugged and rubbed his hand over his arm. "He's mob. I don't want to get involved with them any more than I have to. And he didn't attack me. I said the wrong thing."

"Were you abused as a child?"

Michael swallowed. Shifted in the bed. Scratched at his neck. "I, uh. I don't see what that has to do with anything."

"You just excused Paul's behavior by blaming yourself. That's fairly common among those who have been abused. I was just wondering."

"I just... He came in to ask me how to break into the psych ward. I said something, he got mad. Up until then, he was civil. I'm not afraid of him, but I'm afraid of what he can do. He got at me once, he could do it again. Only worse. If I just kept my mouth shut, there'd be no need."

"You're in protective segregation, Michael."

"Obviously it's not safe enough," he shot back, scratching his leg furiously.

Dr. Parsons rose and went to the sink. He pulled a towel from a drawer and stuck it under the faucet. "Did you just remember that Paul was with Nicky last night?"

He didn't answer. Just rubbed his hands all over his stomach.

"Okay, stop it. Stop it, Michael." Dr. Parsons was at the bedside again. In one hand, he held the wet towel; he used the other to pull Michael's hand from under his shirt. "Take off your shirt."

He sighed and did as told.

"Lie back."

When he did, Dr. Parsons placed the cold, wet towel over the worst of Michael's rash. The water soothed the itch, cooled the fire crawling over his skin.

He sighed.

"Just relax," Dr. Parsons said, voice soft and soothing now. "I won't ask you any more questions. I don't want you to think about Paul Rossi or Nicky or anything. Just close your eyes and relax." He went back to the sink and got out another towel.

"I'm not scared."

"No, but you're stressed. I can't tell if you're scratching because you're itchy or because you're upset. Or if you're itchy because you're upset. In any case, I think it's best if we stop talking about them and you concentrate on relaxing." He came back and draped the second towel over Michael's abdomen.

Michael exhaled and let his eyes fall shut. "I didn't start it," he said.

"I know. But Dr. Juarez isn't here, and Chase said you seemed really upset. And I like talking with you. Treating you. You're human. I mean, no matter what, you're a good man. Not a criminal. And while there are men in here I like more than others, I like you and Alex the best. So I want to do more for you."

He opened his eyes again. "How did you end up here?"

The doctor shrugged. "It seemed like the thing to do. I wanted to work somewhere I could make a difference. This paid more than a clinic, and I'm not totally without self-interest. The warden hired me on when he was making the first round of his changes. I was here before the infirmary was. Before it was a room and some cots. A few cells at the end of the hall for those who needed more confinement. Then, the warden wrote a grant, got state funding, and boom. Best prison medical facility in the state." He smiled. "I do like it here. I just, well. Make less of a difference than maybe I'd like."

"I'm sorry." Michael licked his lips. "I appreciate the work you do."

"Thanks."

The door opened and a nurse stuck his head in. "Doctor, we need you."

"Okay." He looked down at Michael. "Just relax and I'll be back in about twenty minutes so we can do your back."

"Okay. Thank you."

Dr. Parsons smiled and left.

Michael closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable. The towels were soothing the itch on his side and stomach. It even made his back feel less itchy. The drugs were kicking in, too, making him dizzily sleepy. Floaty.

Without opening his eyes, he poked Alex in the side.

Alex snorted. Rolled onto his side to face Michael. "Hey," he muttered without opening his eyes.

"Hey." Michael turned his head and brushed his lips over Alex's forehead. "You feeling any better?"

"Yeah. My head is cotton, but it's better than being in pain." He moved closer and kissed Michael on the neck. "What about you?"

"I'm itchy," he said, knowing he was whining.

"Poor baby."

Michael sighed. Rubbed his eyes. "I'm tired of being in here. I want to walk around or something. Except that I'm tired and need to sleep." He sighed again. "I hate being sick."

"No kidding." Alex stretched. "Hey. Can I ask you something?"

"No."

Alex shoved him gently. "Earlier, when Dr. Hulbert was here, when you asked about visiting Ricky. When you looked at me, you weren't asking my permission, right?"

"Why? Would you have given it to me?"

He propped himself on an elbow. "Michael."

"No, I wasn't asking for your permission." He wanted to roll to face Alex, but he couldn't risk the towels becoming dislodged. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't going to freak or get cranky or anything. Especially since Travis tried what he did. I thought you might be on alert." He bit his lip, then added, "And, because, you know. Because of what Paul did."

"Ricky isn't Paul." He took Michael's hand and kissed the back of it, sock and all. "Or Travis. He's respectful. Understands that we're together, even if he wishes differently. He's... I don't know." He squeezed Michael's hand. "Travis never had that perspective. He always viewed you as an obstacle and me as something he needed. Ricky wouldn't move on you. He's not that stupid."

Michael quirked a smile. "And, even if he would have, he wouldn't now. Not after what happened with his brother." He snuggled against Alex again.

"You're getting me wet." Gently, he shoved Michael away.

"Sorry." He licked his lips. "Sara's coming to town. She wants to visit me."

"I saw the envelope in the room. I wondered what she'd written."

His heart fluttered in his chest. "I don't know what she wants. She didn't say. Just that she was coming. And she wanted to see me and that she feels weird that we've been distant and formal in our letters." He exhaled. "I don't know what she wants."

"Maybe she wants to see you."

"Or yell at me for ruining her life."

"That doesn't sound like her."

Michael shook his head. "No." He sighed. "She's probably coming to get closure or something. To say she forgives me or that she needed to see me so she can move on with her life. To tell me that she's seeing someone, or getting married or... Or, what if she got pregnant when we slept together?"

"You don't think she would have told you?" Alex traced Michael's eyebrows with a fingertip. "Before now."

"Maybe. Or maybe she thought I was too busy, what with going to prison and all." He rubbed his eyes, irritably batting Alex's hand away. "It could be anything."

"Or it could be nothing. Please don't get all worked up. Please."

He sighed. "Maybe I should ask your permission to see her. Or at least say that you won't let me."

"Yes, because I want our relationship to look codependent and fucked up. Please, call your brother right now."

He wrapped his arm around Alex's neck and tugged him until he rolled on top of Michael.

"You're getting my clothes wet," he complained, but he settled against Michael. "What's with the towels?"

"To help stop the itch." He pulled Alex down and kissed him. Once. Twice. Slow and lingering, his tongue stroking at Alex's top lip. "We're not fucked up. We're not codependent."

"I know."

"I love you." He kissed Alex again. "I don't look to you for permission to do things. But if something is going to bother you, I am going to reconsider it. You're my first priority. If me seeing Ricky makes you uncomfortable, then I wouldn't do it. Not because I don't want to make you angry, but because Ricky doesn't mean that much to me. If you seriously told me not to see Sara, then we'd have a problem. Because even if I'm nervous, I need to see her." He brushed his lips against Alex. "But, on the other hand, I know you'd never do that. So we're okay. And if you need to me talk to Dr. Hulbert and convince him of that, I will."

Alex shook his head. Moved so he could kiss Michael. His hand traveled over Michael's stomach, the side with no rash. Traced his fingers over the tattoo he'd long memorized, at least that patch. Raised goosebumps over Michael's skin. "I would never do anything to restrict your freedom," he whispered, lips moving over Michael's neck.

"I know." His hands slid underneath the waistband of Alex's pants. He shuddered when Alex stroked along his hipbone through his thin pajamas.

"Hey!"

Alex pulled away abruptly. Sat up. "Uh. Yes?" he said sheepishly to the nurse in the doorway.

He looked at Alex, wide-eyed and pointed to the window. "We don't need a free show, boys. Keep the hands above the waist and... the mouths not so, you know. You're in the infirmary, not a hotel room."

Michael's face was hot. His entire body was hot, in fact, pickling with embarrassment. "Okay. Uh, sorry."

The nurse just nodded and closed the door.

"Sorry," Alex said, stroking Michael's arm. "I know you get embarrassed about this kind of thing."

He shrugged. "It's not your fault. I kind of forgot, too." He groaned and leaned his head against Alex's shoulder. "I am so bored. Itchy and hot and bored."

"Next time someone comes in, we'll ask for something to do. Movie or books or something."

"And until then?"

"I don't know. Relax?"

Michael snorted. "Do you know how?"

"Good point." He rubbed Michael's neck and picked up the remote control buried in the sheets. "Let's numb our brains on bad TV," he said, turning it on.

Michael sighed and nodded. "It's better than nothing, I guess."


	42. Chapter 42

"No!" Cameron shrieked. "No bath!"

LJ looked up from his book to see a half-naked blur streak out of the hall and into the living room. Without stopping, it beelined for the front closet, where it slammed itself in.

Pam came out of the hall, Cameron's pants in one hand. "Why is he doing this? School starts tomorrow, he needs to take a bath. He never throws a fit about taking a bath. He loves baths."

"Why not offer to let him take a shower?" LJ suggested. "The other day when we got home from the pool, he wanted to shower with me and was all proud of himself for being a big boy and everything."

"Worth a try." She crossed the room to the closet. "Cameron? Do you want to take a shower instead of a bath?"

"No! I don't wanna bath or a shower!"

"But you have school tomorrow. Your first day. You need to be clean."

"I am clean. Don't need a bath." He sounded like he was crying.

Pam opened the door. "This isn't funny, young man." She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out. "This is not a choice. You are going to go to the bathroom right now and get into that bathtub right now. Do you understand?"

His head dropped back and he shook his head. "No! I can't. It'll wash off."

"What will wash off?"

"The picture. It'll wash off!"

"Oh no," LJ groaned. He pushed himself to his feet and went to them. "Cameron. You didn't." Once on his knees, LJ pushed Cameron's shirt up.

"Cameron," Pam said, a giggle breaking out despite herself. She bent over and pulled the shirt the rest of the way off.

From his neck to the top of his underwear, Cameron was covered in blue marker. Stick figures and swirls and lines and what looked like blobs with wings. It was all up and down his arms, too, which explained why he'd been wearing long sleeves since lunch.

When Cameron had closed himself in his room after lunch, LJ hadn't thought too much about it. He had a book to get through for school (assigned before school even began, how messed up was that?) and Cameron was always fine playing on his own. It'd been a peaceful afternoon.

"I'm so sorry, Pam," he said, running both hands through his hair. "I had no idea."

"It's okay. Cameron, honey. Why did you do this?"

He sniffed. "It's for Uncle Mike. I wanted to have a picture on me like him. I've been practicing."

"Practicing?"

Cameron nodded and darted out of the room.

"What do you think he means by that?" Pam asked as she and LJ followed at a more sedate pace.

LJ shrugged. "I have no idea."

Cameron was pulling a box out of his closet when they got there. "See?" he said. He opened the top. "First, I practiced drawing pictures." He handed his mother stack of papers, all with blue figures and lines drawn on them. "And then, I used these." Dolls came next, all decorated with blue.

"Why today, sweetie? Why couldn't you wait until Friday night to do this?"

"It's a map to the school. I don't want to get lost."

LJ snorted. Tried to bite back laughter, but couldn't quite contain it. Pam shot him a look before turning back to Cameron and pulling him onto her lap.

"Cameron, you can't go like this to school. It's going to be hot tomorrow, and you need to wear short sleeves. Everyone will see your tattoo."

"That's okay. People see Uncle Mike's tattoo."

"But he's a grown-up. It's okay for grown-ups to have tattoos. Little boys have to wait until they're older to have one."

Cameron's lower lip stuck out. "But why? I like it. It's pretty." He rubbed his stomach.

"It is pretty. But maybe instead of drawing it on you, we'll take one of the dolls so Uncle Mike can see it."

"But I want him to see my picture," he whined.

"He may get to," LJ said. He picked up the pen underneath the bed and held it up.

Pam sighed. "He used a permanent marker. Of course." She stood, taking Cameron with her. "Okay, babe. Listen up. You need to take a bath. The pen looks like it'll stay on, whether we want it to or not."

"Yay!"

LJ sat on Cameron's bed while Pam took him into the bathroom. A few minutes later, she came back.

"I need to get his pajamas," she said.

"Pam? I was thinking," LJ said. He was twirling the pen in his hands.

"About what?"

He licked his lips. "You know that, uh, when everyone asks him about the pen, he's going to tell them about Uncle Mike. Probably everything. Like how he's in prison and everything. And he, uh, might say how Uncle Mike's going to marry his dad."

Pam sighed. She sat next to him. "I know. And I know I need to talk to him about that. Not because I think... I don't want to introduce him to the idea of homophobia, especially not so young. Of course, if I don't explain, he'll just experience it firsthand."

"What do we do?"

"I should have gotten a book or something."

"You've got a cake."

"That says 'Congratulations Alex and Mike.' It doesn't help the current situation."

"It would it we ate it." He rubbed his stomach. "I could use cake."

"That cake is for when we visit the prison."

"Yeah, but because Uncle Mike's sick, we can't visit until next week. The cake's going to go bad."

"It's in the freezer. It should be fine."

LJ batted his eyelashes at her and said, "Do you really want to take that chance?"

Pam laughed and hit him lightly on the shoulder. "We have brownies for dessert. And we can eat them, if your father ever gets home with dinner."

As if on cue, the front door sounded. "I'm home!" Lincoln shouted.

"We're in Cameron's room!" Pam called back.

A few seconds later, Lincoln poked his head into the room. "Hey. What's going on?" he asked. He walked to the bed, sat down, and kissed Pam.

"We're trying to figure out what to tell Cameron about people's possible reaction when he talks about Alex and Uncle Mike."

"Speaking of," added Pam, "go say hi to Cameron. He's in the bath."

Lincoln frowned, but obediently did as she said. "Hey, buddy. I... What's on your stomach?"

"I drawed a map of the school," Cameron answered. "Like Uncle Mike."

"It doesn't seem to be coming off." There was a light splashing sound. "You scrubbing hard enough?"

"No! I don't want it off."

"It's permanent marker," Pam called.

Lincoln snorted a laugh. "Well it's, uh, nice. Good job."

"Thank you."

"Hurry up. Dinner's ready."

"Okay, Lincoln."

He came back a few seconds later. "Wow."

Pam nodded. "Yeah. So. He's covered in a map, first day of school is tomorrow. I have a horrible feeling he's setting himself up for another difficult year." She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "And things were so much better when we moved."

He sat back next to her and put an arm around her waist. "It'll be okay. Remember that you're not alone now."

LJ rested his head on Pam's shoulder. "Yeah. We're here."

Lincoln kissed her forehead. "We could tell Cameron that he shouldn't talk about Michael. Or his father."

"No, because that's just telling him that there's something wrong with it. I don't want him to feel that way."

"It might be better..."

"No," LJ interrupted heatedly.

His father sighed. "Cameron's not going to commit suicide, LJ. He..."

"No."

"He's right, Lincoln. We need to teach Cameron that just because other people think it's strange or wrong, doesn't mean it is. I just need to figure out what to say."

"Mom! I'm done!"

"Did you wash your neck?"

"Yes!"

"You're ears?"

"Yes, Mom!"

"What about your bottom?"

There was a loud splash. "Yes! I'm done, Mom!"

"I guess he's done. We'll meet you downstairs." Pam stood and left the room. "Cameron, you didn't rinse your hair."

Lincoln clapped his hand on LJ's shoulder. "Come on. Let's get dinner set up, okay?"

"Ow!" Cameron shouted suddenly.

"It's tear free shampoo, Cameron. Just blink your eyes."

"It hurts!"

"You and I used to have that argument," Lincoln said. His hand was still on LJ's shoulder as they walked to the kitchen.

"Yeah, but it really did hurt."

He shook his head. "Just the first time you stayed over. Michael set me straight after that, and I got the baby shampoo. I may not know everything, but I learn."

LJ smiled and bumped shoulders with him. "Yeah, you do." Then he frowned. "Dad, why couldn't we got visit Uncle Mike today?"

"He's sick. He said he has a fever. And he needs to rest. You know that. Besides, you saw him just last week."

"Yeah, but, if he's sick, isn't it better if we go see him? Help make him feel better?"

"What's wrong, LJ?"

He shrugged. "Nothing."

"LJ."

They were in the kitchen now. LJ broke away and went to the bag of food in the middle of the table. Without looking at his dad, he began to pull out the items. "I don't know if I'm ready to go back to school, that's all."

"You seemed excited when you went to orientation."

He nodded. "I know. I just... I've kind of been thinking about Ryan. And how it was his senior year. Mine, too, I know, but..." He sighed.

Lincoln sighed to and came over. He put his hand on LJ's arm and squeezed. "Kid, have you talked about any of this with your shrink?"

"I haven't seen him yet. He's on vacation."

"Right." He squeezed again. "I wish I knew what to say. To make it better."

"You can't make it better, Dad. A friend is dead. Or maybe, he could have been a friend. Or maybe he might have been more."

He could feel rather than see his father frown. "What does that mean, LJ?"

He shrugged.

"What? Are you trying to tell me that you're gay?"

LJ turned, holding the carton of mashed potatoes in his hands. "What if I was? Do you have a problem with it?"

Lincoln looked kind of wide-eyed. Shocked. Unsure. "Um. I don't know... I can't.... I'm used to it with Mike."

"Yeah, but I'm not Uncle Mike. I'm your son. Maybe I'm a failure."

"No," he said right away. "Never. I'm not upset and I don't think you're a failure. It's just that this is new. That's all." Lincoln frowned. "You're gay?"

"I don't know."

"Is there a guy you like at school?"

"No. Not really."

"Did you like Ryan or something?"

Feeling incredibly stupid, LJ shook his head.

"So, what? You just feel gay?"

"I don't know! I just... I don't know." He slammed the potatoes on the kitchen table. The container broke apart and potatoes spilled over his hand. "Ah, man!"

"Don't worry about it. I'll get it. You just wash your hand."

He nodded and went to the sink. Once the potatoes were off his hand, he turned. Lincoln was mopping up the table with a paper towel. He looked mad.

"I'm sorry, Dad."

"For what?"

"I don't know. For being me."

Lincoln looked at him. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know. Just... fucked up."

"LJ." He dropped the paper towel and crossed the kitchen to him. "You are not fucked up. And you haven't done anything to make me upset or angry or that you should be apologizing for. You're confused. It's natural. Your life the past couple years has been confusing." He put his arms around LJ and pulled him into a hard hug, something he hadn't done in awhile.

"What if everyone hates me?"

"Why would they do that?" Lincoln rested his chin on the top of his head. "You have friends from drama. You ended the year with a few friends. You're smart. It'll be fine."

"What if I can't find a date for prom or something? What if I have to miss every important senior year thing because I don't have any friends and no one finds me attractive and I turn out to be a total loser?"

"You already do have friends in your acting group. You got your uncle's good looks, so you'll have no problem finding a date. And, even if you don't, you'll do all those senior year things with your friends."

"What if I don't have any?"

"You will. And, if you don't, you'll do it all alone."

"Like a loser."

"That won't happen. It'll be fine. You're worried about nothing."

LJ sighed and pulled back. He could feel tears pressing behind his eyes. "I do this every year. And I normally talk to Uncle Mike. He calms me down, you know?"

Lincoln sighed. He leaned forward and knocked foreheads with his son. "These things you need to tell me. I would have taken you out. We could still go if you want."

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Look, we'll eat dinner here and then you and I will go out for dessert. And we'll talk. Okay?"

He nodded. "Okay." Sniffed and wiped his nose on his shirt collar. "So. What do you think of Cameron's tattoo?"

Lincoln broke into a grin. "At least he didn't cut his hair."

LJ's face went up in flames. "It was just that one time."

"One time is all you need to make a story. In fact, I think I'll tell it to Pam later."

"Dad!"


	43. Chapter 43

Dr. Parsons pulled the thermometer from Michael's mouth and checked it. "Congratulations, your fever's officially broken." He met Michael's eyes. "Are you ready to go back to your cell block?"

Michael nodded while gently rubbing the back of his neck. "It still itches, though. Not as much, but...."

"It'll probably itch for a little longer. We'll keep putting compresses on your rash until the blisters dry out. Don't scratch them."

"I won't." The socks had been removed two days ago and Michael had done his best not to scratch. The compresses were doing their job and, combined with calamine lotion, it hadn't been as hard as it'd been when the rash had first broken out. The only thing that make the itching flare up uncontrollably was stress, and even that itching was more in his head than anything else.

And his arm was itching like crazy right now.

Dr. Parson's caught his hand. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

He sighed. "You are going to be the death of me, you know that. You make me want to drink, and I hate to drink." He squeezed Michael's hand. "Talk."

"I don't know if I'm ready to see Travis."

"Well, from what I hear, he doesn't leave his cell unless it's for meals, count, or showers. You probably won't run into him."

"But he's there." Michael sighed and rubbed his thigh. "It just bugs me that he's still there."

"I know. But, like I said before, there was no justification for putting him back in the psych ward. Not really." He cocked his head. "He's promised to behave. Dr. Juarez is working with him his obsession with Alex. It's gotten better."

Michael shrugged. "He still bugs me."

"We can't move people to psych because they bug you."

"I know." He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

Dr. Parsons sighed and tugged on the stethoscope around his neck. "If you don't feel up to going back, if you don't think you can handle seeing Travis right now, you can stay in the infirmary. Technically, I can keep you here until those blisters dry out. I just thought you might be getting bored here. There's not much to do."

He gave Dr. Parsons a lopsided smile. "There's not much to do around here anyway." He shrugged. "But I don't want to stay here. I'm ready to go back."

"Good. Because I'm sick of you." He crossed the room to a closet. "Now, you're going to have to keep wearing the scrubs until the blisters dry out. They won't rub against your skin like your normal uniform. One a day and at the end of the week you'll come back for new ones." He came back with a stack of scrubs.

Michael took them. "Can I have calamine lotion, too?"

"No. We're going to pull you off that for a bit. After you put the compresses on your rash, put Vaseline over the rash. All over, so you're going to be sticky. And, uh, please remember that Vaseline isn't really that good of a lubricant and definitely isn't something you want to use with condoms."

His cheeks burned. "I, uh." It seemed best just not to say anything.

He put a container of Vaseline on top of the scrubs. "Since we're on the subject, can I ask about you and Alex?"

"Ask what?" Michael swallowed, his throat feeling huge.

"How's your sex life progressing?"

He shrugged. "We're doing stuff."

"Are you comfortable with what you're doing?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

He forced himself to meet his doctor's eyes. "Yeah, I'm comfortable."

Dr. Parsons nodded. "Are you satisfied? Happy with your sex life?"

Michael sighed. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I don't know. I guess." He lowered his hands. Licked his lips. "I'm uncomfortable doing too much. Not because I don't want to, but... I mean, a sheet over the bars isn't much protection. I want to be alone with him. Not in a cell with guards pacing up and down and horny cons with an ear out so they can beat off to us."

"I can see how that might put a damper on things." He hoisted himself on the table next to Michael. "Have you talked about things with Alex?"

"Is this really in your job description?" Michael asked. He shifted uncomfortably.

"No, not really. Except, I am responsible for my inmates health which, theoretically, includes sex lives. Right now, you're the only one with something resembling a sex life." He shrugged. "On the outside, this would be a routine question. Especially since Alex is over fifty and entering into his first same sex relationship. You've had relationships with men before, and it can sometimes be unsatisfying to the experienced partner to act as guide."

His fingers clenched in the scrubs on his lap. "I'm fine. I mean, I'm the wreck, right? I'm the one..." Hs voice died.

"Are you a wreck? Because if it's really that you're uncomfortable with having sex in the cell, that sounds like a valid concern. It doesn't sound like you're wreck. It sounds like you're modest."

Michael rolled his eyes.

"Have you talked about your sexual relationship with Alex?"

"Yeah. Not for a few weeks, I don't think. But things have been.... We've had some intense, uh..." He licked his lips. "We've talked about it. Like, uh, what we're going to do. What we're comfortable with. We just haven't done much." He licked his lips again and said, "And I don't know when.... I definitely don't feel attractive right now and, um." He sighed. "Unless we get out of here early, I can't imagine... which means that Alex is going to be over sixty when we finally get to... And he probably won't anymore." His throat felt raw and tight. His eyes were burning.

Dr. Parsons put a hand on his shoulder. "You are not going to be in here for the next ten years. The warden will kick you out before that happens. You're going to get that commutation."

Michael shook his head. "It's nice to think about, but..."

"If you're not out of here by Halloween, I will come dressed as a nun."

"A nun?"

He shrugged. "I know someone who has the costume."

Michael laughed.

"Look. Even if you don't out that soon, or even if the commutation doesn't come through, eventually, you and Alex will come to an arrangement. You'll start feeling attractive again and the two of you will be in your cell, alone. One night, the sheet might seem enough. Just make sure you and Alex keep the lines of communication open and it'll come together."

"Okay." He rubbed his head. "But if he tries to touch me right now, I'll scream."

"Probably a good idea. You wouldn't want one of those blisters bursting over him. That would be disgusting."

He wrinkled his nose and nodded. "Yeah. Totally. Bad enough they might burst on me."

Dr. Parsons laughed and squeezed his arm. "Let's go find you an escort back to protective segregation. I'm sick of your face."

Michael was quickly handed off to a guard, who took him back to protective segregation. As usual, it was quiet, subdued in the wing. At this time of day, most cons were either doing chores or in class; Michael only hoped that Alex wasn't busy.

He wasn't. Alex was in the cell, stretched across the bed reading. His face broke into a grin when he saw Michael.

"Look who decided to join the rest of us," Alex said, setting the book aside.

"Yeah, well. Someone's got to keep an eye on you all," he replied. He put his scrubs into the dresser, Vaseline on top, then went to the bed. "Careful, I'm greasy."

Alex shrugged and pulled Michael into his arms. "I've missed you."

"It's been two days since you saw me last." His stomach tightened as Alex nuzzled him, lips against that soft, sensitive patch behind his ears.

"Two days too long." He kissed down Michael's neck. Along his shoulder.

He laughed. "You're just horny."

Alex's hand ran up Michael's leg. Stopped at the top of his thigh where he massaged lightly. "And if I am? Doesn't mean I missed you any less for your beautiful mind."

"Right now, my mind is the only part of me that's beautiful." He turned his head so he could kiss Alex properly, then pushed him away. "I'm greasy and disgusting right now."

He laughed. Leaned in so he could kiss Michael again. "I'll give you greasy, but I can't agree with disgusting. Never disgusting." He kissed Michael's cheek. "How do you feel?"

He sighed. Shrugged. "Better. Gross. Like I should jump in the shower and peel the first few layers of skin off."

"There's a nice image."

"Isn't it?" He rested his head on Alex's shoulder. "How have you been?"

"Bored. Not much to do around here without you. Definitely a lack of stimulating conversation." He kissed the top of Michael's head.

"What about Travis?"

He snorted. "Stimulating conversation from Travis? Are you joking?"

"That's not what I mean. I just mean, you know. What's going on? With him?"

"No clue. He's pretty much kept to himself since our little incident. Even O'Connell can't get him to come out of his cell, and O'Connell and Travis have always been pretty close. He's just kind of shut down."

"So sad."

Alex laughed. "No need to be sarcastic. We all know you don't like him."

"Do you like him?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he stood up and crouched under the bed. "Want something to drink?" he asked.

"Soda. Haven't had one in a week."

"You well enough?"

Michael sighed.

"Sorry." Alex stood and handed Michael a soda. Cracking his own open, he paced the cell looking thoughtful.

"You're doing a really bad job of reassuring me that you're not leaving me or something." Michael slurped from his soda. "And I wasn't even afraid you were going to leave me."

"No, I... Look, I'm pissed off at Travis. At what he did. And I don't like that he was trying to manipulate you and me and everyone else. But I still kind of have a soft spot for him. I still like the idiot."

Michael shrugged. "I figured you would. I mean, he was your cellie. You spent six months fighting for him. And I guess he's sweet."

"It's an act. The sweet." He leaned against the bars, one foot hooked around them. "He hasn't figured out who he is yet. Hasn't been allowed to." Alex sighed and shook his head. "But I don't know what to do. I don't trust him. But I don't want to alienate him, either."

"So don't. Go talk to him. You talk, even if he doesn't."

"What am I going to do? March into his cell? I don't want to risk being alone with him. I could try the mess hall, but I like eating with you."

Michael wrinkled his nose. "Why?"

"I like seeing what you'll object to being in your food next. And how you will get around eating it. It's amusing."

"Glad to amuse." He took another drink. "Why don't you O'Connell to mediate or something? Sit in with you so you can talk to him. Travis. And not be alone."

"That's not a bad idea."

Michael shook his head. "I know." He smiled. "I've been known to have a good idea once or twice in my life."

Alex took another drink of his soda, then set it down on the dresser. "So I've heard." He crossed the room to Michael. Crawled on top of him, taking the soda can away and setting it aside. "So many good ideas during your prison break," he murmured, framing Michael's face with his hands. His mouth, warm, wet, caught Michael's own. Tongue probed insistently as his heavy weight rested on Michael's body.

His heart hammered. "Alex, no," he whispered, even as he kissed back. His hands slid underneath Alex's shirt. "I'm greasy and gross."

"I like you greasy and gross." His tongue traced patterns against the skin exposed by the open V in the neck.

Michael groaned in his throat. Pressed his hips into Alex's. "I've got blisters. A rash."

"But you taste good." Teeth sank into the skin above Michael's collarbone. The flat of Alex's tongue moved along the bone, following it.

"People can see us."

"I've got an exhibitionist kink."

Michael snorted. Pressed his face the top of Alex's hair. Kissed him. "Can we at least put a sheet up?"

"In a minute." He moved his face up and tugged at Michael's earlobe with his teeth. Tongued it, causing sparks to skitter over Michael's skin.

Stomach twisted. Heart sped up. He shivered. "Alex," he groaned, pushing at him. "Please. The sheet."

He let out a breath. Kissed Michael and pushed off him. "Anything for you. And, viola! Privacy." The sheet dropped down over the bars, blocking their view of the outside.

Michael rolled onto his stomach and watched as Alex dropped into a chair and began unlacing his shoes. "You know, Dr. Parsons was asking about us. Our sex life."

"Oh?" He dropped on shoe on the floor and switched to the other. "What did he want to know? If we used the lube he gave us yet?"

"No," he laughed, cheeks flushing. "Just, you know. If I was satisfied with our sex life. If you seemed to be."

"He asked me how I was adjusting at my last physical. To coming out late in life. He'd love to send me to a support group if possible." After placing his shoes neatly under the bed, he stretched out next to Michael.

"Did he say that?" He rolled onto his side to face Alex.

"No. But I get that sense." He stroked Michael's face. "You're okay with it, right?"

"With what?"

"That I'm new to all this. That everything I know is all theory."

Michael blinked. Move closer to Alex and slid his leg over Alex's hip. "All your theorizing and studying pay off. I mean, in practice, you're the most amazing lover I've ever had."

He snorted. "Well, I don't know about that."

"You are. You're considerate and gentle. You've put up with a hell of a lot with me. I mean, we're engaged, and we haven't even, you know." He blushed.

"What?" Alex kissed underneath his chin. "Had anal sex? Is that the only thing that counts as being intimate?"

Michael closed his eyes. Shifted closer to Alex. "No. But it's a big deal, right? I mean, what if we wait a long time before we do it, and then we do and you hate it?"

"Do you think I'm going to leave you if that happens?"

"Well. You might decide you're not gay."

"I don't know if I am gay. But I do know that I'm in love with you. I desire you. And, if we have anal sex and I hate it, there are still plenty of other things for us to do." He slipped his hand underneath Michael's shirt.

Michael gasped. Moaned and pulled away. "Don't. That makes it itchy," he groaned, sitting up. Half of his chest burst into tingles all up and down. That set his arm off, too and he rubbed at them furiously, careful not to scratch with his nails but dying for relief.

"I'm sorry, Michael." Alex sat up and kissed him, careful not to bring their bodies into contact. "What can I do?"

"Um, get towels?" He gave up and began scratching his arms. "Wet them, and we'll put them on the rash. It helps."

"Will do." He climbed out of bed and went to the dresser where he'd stored the stack of towels a guard had brought earlier.

After Michael was set up in bed, wet towels draped over him, itching subdued somewhat, Alex slid back next to him. "I'm sorry," he said again. He kissed Michael on the forehead.

Michael shook his head. "Don't be. I'm the one with the rash." He sighed and rolled his eyes back, staring at the mattress above his head. "I'm being stupid. Questioning you. You can never keep your hands off me." He sighed again. "It's me. I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"I don't know. I'm not good at this. Relationships. I'm not even good at sex. I've only topped once and it was awful, and now, with you, I... You're going to hate it. Hate me. Leave me."

"You know, Pam and I had a pretty spectacularly bad first time. I scraped her with her bra hook and leaned on her hair. We couldn't find a rhythm and I ended up with a black eye which, to this day, I don't know how it happened. Even after that, it took us a few tries to get it right."

"It's not the same."

"It is to me. I'm fine with the knowledge that I have homosexual tendencies. Being with you has clarified so much about my life. I suddenly get things from my past that I couldn't quite figure out before." He kissed Michael's cheek. Rested his forehead against the side of Michael's face. "Don't be scared. This? This is important to me. Nothing is going to make me leave. Not even you."

That got a smile from him. He turned his head, found himself looking into the most beautiful pair of silvery blue eyes he'd ever seen. "Promise?"

"I do."


	44. Chapter 44

"You know what would be awesome?" Michael said as he tossed the Frisbee to Alex.

The toss was a little off, and Alex had to jog a few steps to catch it. "What?" he asked. He returned the toss and adjusted his sunglasses.

The wind caught the Frisbee, sending it high. Michael had to leap to catch it, his body lithe and flexible in the afternoon sun. The shirt of his scrubs rode up, revealing his stomach. Alex found his eyes drawn to it and had to control the impulse to rush Michael, drop to his knees, and lick the tantalizing skin.

Michael landed and grinned. The grin lit up his face in a way Alex hadn't seen since before the attack. It warmed him and he couldn't help but return the smile.

"Kites."

"What?" Alex couldn't remember what they were taking about.

"Kites. It'd be awesome if we could have kites." He threw the Frisbee back. "I love flying kites."

"Really?" The Frisbee slapped into his hand and was returned with a quick flick of his wrist. "Why?"

Michael shrugged. "There's something relaxing about it. Once you get them up. When they're high up there and you're lying back on the grass, looking at them. It's just... they're free, you know?"

His toss went wide. Alex jumped after it, missed. Jogged to where it landed and back. "But they're on strings. Tethered."

"Yeah, well. Sometimes, the illusion in enough I guess." He caught the Frisbee. Held it, feeding it through his hands. "My mom used to take me to the park. A lot. I mean, you know. When she had the day off."

"Oh?" Alex walked over to Michael. Stopped in front of him, too close, but it's not like they'd ever fooled anyone anyway.

Michael nodded. "Those days, we'd wake up early. Walk to Dunkin' Donuts and we'd all get one. Linc and me would get milk and my mom would get coffee. Then we'd go to the park. Lincoln would wolf down his food so he could go play, but I couldn't do anything else until I got the kite in the air."

"Not even eat."

"Nope. I had to fly the kite. Sometimes it would take almost twenty minutes, but it didn't matter. Nothing was right until it was up there. Flying free." Michael smiled. "I had a Superman kite that I loved. And once it was in the sky, everything just seemed perfect."

He reached out and rubbed Michael's arm. "How long since you've flown a kite?"

He shook his head. Shrugged. "Uh, few years. Grown men flying kites aren't, you know." He shrugged again. "Unless it's one of those souped up racing type kites, but those aren't the same. Life already moves to fast for me. I just want something up."

"I'm sure Cameron would love you to take him kite flying."

Michael gave him that look. The, 'by the time we get out of here, Cameron will be in college,' look that Alex hated so much. At least this time he didn't have to hear the words. Michael just pulled away. "Gonna catch it?" he asked and he tossed the Frisbee.

Laughing, Alex ran after it. He had to dodge through a few other inmates as the Frisbee cut through the air uninhibited. It finally arced lazily down and landed on the grass. He picked it up and threw it back.

"You cheated," Michael called. "You were supposed to bring it back."

"What? We're playing fetch back?"

"It'll give you a good workout."

"Then why don't I throw and you fetch."

He shook his head. "That doesn't work for me."

"That doesn't work for you?" Alex laughed.

"I only run for important reasons. Like if someone has ice cream. From the law. That sort of thing."

"So, you're more of a cat than a dog, is that what you're telling me?"

Michael caught the Frisbee. "I generally think of myself as a human, but whatever turns you on."

"No, I mean, dogs fetch. Cats are too good for that. And fussy." The Frisbee snagged on his fingertips. "And beautiful."

"Such a charmer."

He tossed it back. "Seriously, though. Let's say we were out and decided to get one. A pet. What would you rater have, a cat or a dog?"

Michael bit his lip and titled his head. A thoughtful expression came over his face. And then a more serious one. He stayed silent for four more back-and-forths of the Frisbee.

"It's not that hard of a question," Alex finally said, worried. "And you can say both if you want."

He nodded. Tossed the Frisbee. Still took his time thinking.

This was wrong. Michael was thinking way too hard about his. It was just supposed to be some lighthearted, easy question. One Alex had asked on hundreds of dates when he was younger. Never had he had anyone think about it this hard.

"Michael?"

"Um. I don't know. I guess. Cat?"

"You don't sound too sure about that."

He shrugged. Held out his hands fore the Frisbee, but Alex wasn't throwing it to him. Everything was suddenly wrong: the light, the air, the breeze. Michael.

Michael sighed. "It's just. Dogs are big. And sloppy. They chew on things and drool. They get hair everywhere. They dig holes and they push you down. Sometimes they lick you, but sometimes they bite. And they smell. But cats shed, too. And they claw thing. The litter box is disgusting. The male cats spray and sometimes they drool. When you pet them, they smell. But, I guess that problem s averted if you get a female. And they are cuddly. Much neater than dogs. So. Cat."

Alex nodded. Frowned. Something wasn't right with Michael's answer. He just wasn't sure what. It'd taken too long to come up with for one thing. And Michael wasn't meeting his eyes. He was tugging on the hem of his scrubs, scratching lightly at the flakey, dried out blisters of his rash. Twitchy. Jittery.

So what was it? It was a good answer as far as Alex was concerned. Dogs were a mess, even the little ones. He couldn't get used to the smell and he hated picking up dog crap. Yes, they were loyal, but they were a hassle. While cats...

He blinked, a sudden realization hitting him. Michael's reasons weren't similar to Alex's for preferring cats over dogs; they were Alex's reasons.

"Were you trying to figure out what I'd say?" he asked.

"No," Michael said immediately, his cheeks flushing guiltily.

"You were." And it makes him so incredibly sad. Michael loved him and trusted him, but even Alex wasn't enough to undo years of damage. Years of Michael having to answer questions correctly or risk being sent away. Sent back to foster care or exiled or rejected by those who were supposed to take care of him.

And yet, at he same time, it infuriated him. Because he wanted to be enough. He wanted Michael to know that when Alex asked a question, he didn't expect a specific answer. That Michael could say whatever he liked and Alex would still love him.

He crossed the distance between them and shoved him backwards. "Goddamn it, Michael! I just asked a stupid, inconsequential question for fun. I don't give a flying fuck which you prefer, just tell me what *you* think. I know what I think."

Michael blinked, eyes huge and fearful. "I..."

Alex grabbed his shirt. Yanked him close. "Michael. When are you going to trust me?"

"I do."

"No, you don't. We're out here, playing around, I ask a stupid question, and you turn it into this big deal."

"No, you turn it into his big deal. You're the one throwing a fit. You're the one manhandling me." Michael pulled Alex's hands off him and stepped away. "A lot of my foster parents had dogs. And those dogs hated me. You know? Barked me into corners or into closets. In this one house, I didn't even have a bed. I had to sleep in the dog bed while the dog took mine. As for cats." Michael shrugged. "They're okay. Never had one, but they seem nice. I hate litter boxes, though. Freak out when I get near them. It's just... disgusting." Michael licked his lips. "I like birds."

"Birds?"

"Yeah." He smiled. "Like parakeets. Little birds you keep in a cage. And you can let them fly around inside. They're cute."

Alex shook his head. Smiled. "Birds."

"Yeah. I had some in my first apartment. Two. Pinky and the Brain." He grinned. "When I'd go to class, I'd leave a CD on for them. A few times, I taped them, because they would sing along." His face fell suddenly. "The tape got lost back when I was clearing the loft. I was going to save it, but..."

Alex rubbed his knuckles over Michael's cheek. "I know it's not the same, but we can get a couple birds. Tape them singing."

"That'd be nice." He licked his lips, leaning into the touch. "We could get a cat, too. As long as we don't let the birds out while its in the room." Michael gasped as Alex's fingers teased his earlobe. "Just don't make me clean the litter box."

"Never." He traced his fingers down the column of Michael's neck. He couldn't help but sway closer, wetting his lips as he did.

"Alex..."

"Hey! Loverboys!" a CO shouted. "Why don't you..." He was cut off by a loud electronic tone. It blasted three times, signaling everyone back in side double time.

Alex glanced at the chain link fence a few yards away. Between the special needs yard and the yard for Gen pop was a pathway and a partial building blocking the view. They had different yard times to prevent those in Gen Pop from screaming at the people who been transferred to get away from them. There were guards, though, running down the path, barking into walkie-talkies and definite movement over near the Gen Pop building.

"Scofield, Mahone. You deaf? Move it!"

"What's do you think is going?" Michael asked. He grabbed Alex's hand and tugged him toward the building.

Alex turned away, allowing Michael to lead him as he walked backwards. He was looking at the towers, watching the guards inside. Started when the rumbling of vehicles sounded, jeeps tearing down the path to the entrance. "A break?" He looked back up at the tower. "Or maybe something with the computers."

"Finally," Simms said when they made it inside. He took the Frisbee from Michael and whapped him on the head with it.

"Prison brutality," Michael protested.

Simms smiled. "We're on lockdown. Go line up outside your cell for count."

"What's going on?" asked Alex.

"A problem. Go line up." He smacked Michael on the bottom with the Frisbee and handed it to Alex. "Oh, and I'd stop holding hands. Travis has been in his cell crying all morning and you're in prison, not on vacation."

Alex tightened his grip on Michael's hand momentarily before he let it go.

"Maybe there was another riot," Michael suggested.

"I don't know that they'd put us on lockdown for that. They didn't last time."

"I thought they did. For the duration of it. Then we came off early because we're the good prisoners."

Alex, inspired by Simms, lightly thwaped Michael on the bottom as they entered the cell block.

"What?" Michael looked at him, blinking his doe eyes innocently. "We are good."

"Mmm. I don't know about that. You strike me as someone with a naughty streak."

They took their place on the line outside their cell. It was a few minutes before all the inmates were assembled, and even then the guards just sort of milled around talking to one another.

Alex glanced down the line to Travis. The kid did look like he'd been crying all morning, his eyes red and swollen, face blotchy. He wanted to go and talk to him, comfort him. Tell him that they were okay.

Except they really weren't. Alex had yet to talk to O'Connell about mediating for them, and he wasn't ready to face the kid alone. He didn't trust him.

"I almost feel bad for being jealous of him," Michael murmured. He turned away so his back was to Travis and looked passed Alex, deceptively casual. "I thought he was well adjusted. Happy. I guess I was wrong."

"It had to happen sometime." He brushed his fingers along the inside skin of Michael's wrist.

Michael shivered. His pupils dilated, eyes suddenly dark. "Could you not?" he whispered. He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue.

Alex's heart picked up speed. His skin flushed, the air growing too warm. He wanted to drag Michael into their cell, but the fucking guards were still milling around with their thumbs up their asses. "Michael..."

"All right, listen up!" a guard shouted suddenly. "We're going on partial lockdown the rest of the day. No classes, no more yard time. We'll take you in shifts to dinner and showers. Go into your cells and behave."

"What's going on, boss?" Randall asked.

"None of you business, con. Move it."

"Boss," Alex heard O'Connell say as he and Michael headed into the cells. "A word?"

Michael hung back, looking at O'Connell. Alex wrapped his hand around Michael's wrist and tugged him inside. The sheet was down before the bars were even shut, but Alex didn't care. He had Michael against the bunk hands at Michael's neck while he hungrily devoured Michael's mouth. Tongue thrusting inside the hot, sweet mouth, tasting, stroking, playing.

"Alex," Michael gasped, breaking apart. His hands were scrabbling at Alex's clothes, pulling at his shirt, seeking skin. "I'm all scaly. Gross."

"No." He licked down Michael's neck, sucking and biting at the soft, smooth skin. "It's fine. You're fine."

"I'm disgusting."

"No, you're not." He pushed Michael's shirt up and fell to his knees. "Off," he ordered as his hands dropped to Michael's hips. He pressed his face against the blue-ink decorated stomach. Licked along the lines and patterns. Dropped a small scattering of kisses down his stomach. Slid his fingers underneath the elastic of Michael's scrubs and underwear. Glanced up.

Michael was panting, chest heaving with each breath. His head titled back, rested against the upper mattress. Eyes closed, lashes fanned over his cheeks. His mouth worked, soft words, little gasps. Arms thrown out on either side of him, digging into the blankets, arms trembling.

Slowly, Alex pulled Michael's pants and underwear down. Over lean thighs that Alex had to kiss as he followed the receding fabric. Nuzzling adorable kneecaps and nibbling at shins. Urging Michael to lift his feet, step out of the garments, leaving him almost completely naked.

Alex kissed up Michael's leg. As he did, he let his hand idly trace patterns on the inside of Michael's thigh.

"Oh, God," Michael whispered.

"You okay?" He reached the juncture of Michael's thigh. Licked along the crease, drawing a moan from Michael.

"Fine," Michael whispered. Then he bit his lower lip, eyes squeezed tight, face scrunched.

"Relax." Alex pressed a soothing kiss against his skin. Then he turned his attention to Michael's cock.

He wasn't quite hard yet. Not completely limp, definitely interested. But Ale was going to have to work a bit.

No problem.

Alex wrapped his fingers around Michael's cock. Stroked in short, gentle movements. Base to tips, just his fingers. Caressed hot, silky skin, feeling blood rush to the member. Filling it. Hardening.

His heart picked up speed. Sounded in his ears. He's stroked Michael off before. Had experience. Stroked himself off numerous time.

Today was time for something new.

Swallowing back nervousness--Michael was part psychic and Alex didn't want him internalizing any of Alex's hesitation--Alex leaned forward. Took the head of Michael's cock in his mouth. Sucked.

Michael groaned. His hand went into his mouth, and he bit his fist.

So far, so good.

He pulled off the head. Licked. Head. Side. Other side. Up and down. Twirling around it. Down at the base. All the way up, drawing another strangled noise from Michael. He slid his mouth over Michael, sucking. Medium pressure, as much as he could take.

It was different. Different from going down on a woman. Hard and pulsing and filling. His hand was wrapped around the base of Michael's cock, and he stroked in twisting movements in time with the suction. Warm and salty with an almost metal tang.

And above him, Michael gasped and groaned. His hips twisted and jerked. His face bunched up and he was completely at Alex's mercy. Lost in sensation as Alex toyed with him. Caressed that silky flesh with his tongue. Teased the tender flesh in the juncture, trailing it down to fondle Michael's balls. Over Michael's perineum and back. Over his hip and stomach.

Alex pulled off Michael's cock. Rose slightly to nuzzle at his stomach again. Pressed a series of open, wet kisses over sweaty skin. Stroked Michael's cock, twisting his wrist.

"Alex," Michael gasped. "I'm too... I'm gonna..." His stomach tightened.

"Just relax, Michael. Give in." He moved back to take Michael in mouth. Licked first. Again. Dropped kisses over Michael's cock. Took it in again, sliding deeper. Deeper. Almost gagging, but he breathed through his nose, tried to relax and...

"Gah." Michael grunted. His back arched. He came. Hot spurts of spunk filled Alex's mouth.

He choked. Pulled away, trying to control the urge to spit. Swallowed what he had. Felt more hit him in the cheek, sticky-slick and hot.

Michael was trembling. Legs shook hard and gave out. He slumped to the floor, head lolling on the bed.

Alex wiped his cheek on his shirt. Leaned in and caught Michael's mouth in a gentle kiss.

It was returned languidly, Michael's mouth moving slowly. His eyes were half-lidded, a smile on his face.

"First time?" he mumbled. "Really?"

"Yeah." Alex kissed his jaw, trailed down to his chin. "Was I good?"

Michael nodded. His eyes shut, then jerked open. "Yeah." They shut again.

"Let's get you to bed," Alex said, realizing Michael was out of it. "Up." He slid his hands underneath Michael's arms. Heaved him onto the bed, getting no help from Michael at all. "Roll over."

Michael inhaled sharply. Opened his eyes again. "What? Huh?"

Alex climbed next to him. Pushed him gently, nudging him over on the bed.

"You didn't..." Michael's hand flopped loosely at Alex's hip. "I can," he started, but he trailed off with a soft snore.

He laughed. Kissed Michael's neck. Wrapped his arms around him. "Don't worry about," he said. "You can return the favor later." He kissed Michael again, feeling securely smug. Not only had he done a good job for his first time sucking another man off, but this was the most relaxed Michael had been in, well, forever. Not bad for a days work in his opinion.

Alex snuggled next to Michael, kissed his shoulder, despite it being the blister-scab-scaled covered one. Closed his eyes and breathed him in. He could feel muscles in his own shoulders unknotting, a feeling of languorous relaxation overtaking him.

Thank God for whatever had caused the lockdown. When he found out what had, Alex would be sure to send flowers.


	45. Chapter 45

It's the sound of paper sliding over paper that draws Michael from the hazy darkness of his mind. He yawned, stretched. Rolled over and presses his face against Alex's stomach.

"You awake?" Long, gentle fingers stroke over his hair and neck.

"No."

Alex laughed. Stroked over Michael's shoulders. "Lazy boy."

"Not like there's anything else to do." He breathed in deeply. Moved up Alex's body to rest his head on his chest. "We still on lockdown?"

"Yup. And no word as to why." Alex shifted, setting down the book. He wrapped both arms around Michael and kissed him on top of the head. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," Michael answered, opening his eyes. "Sorry I fell asleep on you."

Alex smiled and kissed him again. "I thought I should take it as a compliment."

Michael slid his hand over Alex's chest. Undid the buttons on his shirt so he could slide his hand inside. He stroked warm skin and, if possible, melted even further into a useless pile of goo. "You should. I've only, uh, fallen straight to sleep like that, where I can't control it? Once."

"Really?" Alex's hand slipped underneath Michael's shirt. "Dare I ask about the other one who was able to suck your brain out your cock?"

"Jealousy makes you crude."

"I'm not jealous. You're mine now." To prove his point, Alex pinched Michael's bottom. "And it took me three hours to come up with that."

"I see," he laughed. Michael kissed Alex's chest and lay his head back on it. "You don't have anything to worry about. That was fantastic."

"Thanks." He kissed Michael again. "So. Who was this other fantastic lover of yours? You've got me all curious now."

Michael sighed. "It was nothing."

"Bad experience?"

"No, of course not. Great experience." He licked his lips. "I was on vacation. In Baja. And there was this guy. Jack. He was a surfer. Tried to teach me how to surf." He couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips. "We, I don't know. Hit it off. Spent a week together, just... talking and fooling around and..." He could feel his face flushing. "I don't know. This one night, we were talking and drinking--not a lot, but some. And we just started and, um." It was hot. Face flushed, head spinning. "I just trusted him. That's all. I was more comfortable with him than anyone I'd ever met until you. I just lost myself."

Alex stroked his back. "How did he react?"

"Just took it in stride. He seemed to get it. Was flattered." He shrugged. "Jack had studied psychology at school. When I woke up, he was making breakfast. We ate in bed, watched the sun rise." He sighed. "That was my last day there."

Alex kissed the top of his head. Slid his hand up Michael's spine. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you stay?"

"I had work. I had responsibility. I couldn't just give that all up to stay and have great sex."

"Did Jack live in Baja?"

Michael blinked. "No. He was from California."

"Why didn't you move out there, get a job with a firm out there, to be with him?"

"It was just a fling, Alex."

Alex rubbed his chin over Michael's head. He was stroking Michael's neck, thumb touching lightly behind his ear. "I know. It's just that, I know you. How you deal with people. How hard it is for you to get comfortable. And if you met someone who could make you that comfortable that quickly, then it must have been special." Alex paused. "Did he turn you down?"

Michael sighed. Alex knew him too well. "No. It was me. I got scared. He even offered to move to Chicago. Said that as long as we went on vacation once or twice a year, he could do without living close to the beach. And what we had was too special to just walk away. But that's what I did."

"Do you regret it?"

He rolled on top of Alex. Kissed him lightly on the lips. "Not any more."

Alex smiled at that and pulled Michael down for another kiss. A much deeper kiss this time, all lips and tongues and Alex's teeth nipping at his lower lip teasingly. Michael opened his mouth wider, pressed closer to Alex, wishing their bodies could merge. Wishing they could be closer.

That he was ready to be closer.

"Alex," he whimpered into Alex's mouth. He pushed harder against him, body one pleasurable ache.

"Hey. Calm down." He kissed down Michael's neck. "We really shouldn't. It's almost dinner."

"Fuck dinner."

He laughed. Kissed Michael back.

Michael pulled away. Rested his head on Alex's shoulder and cuddled against him. "When we get married, are we going to have rings?"

"Of course. Do you want them?"

"Yeah. Can we get them engraved?"

"Why not? Any ideas as to what you want them engraved with?"

Michael shrugged. "How about, 'Alex belongs to Michael Scofield. Please return if lost.'"

Alex snorted. Pinched Michael's bottom again.

"I'll get the same. Only opposite." He frowned. "Who takes whose name?"

"I don't know. It's not really required, unless you want to."

"Do you want to?"

He shrugged. "It's not that important. I'm still surprised Pam changed her name, to be honest. She said it was easier."

He nodded. Chewed on his lower lip. "I'll think about it." He ran his hand up Alex's arm. "If our sentence isn't commuted..."

"It will be."

"But if it isn't, or if it takes a long time.... If we're still here at, uh, Christmas, lets say. Can we do it here?"

He could feel Alex swallow. His hand tightened on Michael's back. "Yeah. I think maybe we can. If that's what you want."

"It is." He found Alex's other hand and threaded their fingers. Lifted his head to look into Alex's eyes. "I need something more concrete than idea of a commutation. I can't believe in it like you do; it's not real enough. But getting married December..."

"Twenty-fourth. The day before."

"Right. December twenty-fourth. Knowing that that's what we're doing. No matter what. That I can believe in."

Alex had that look on his face. The one where he wasn't sure to smile and be happy or be sad because Michael still need reassurance and something tangible to hold on to, instead of hope. "All right," he finally said. "That sounds like a plan."

"Good." He leaned down and kissed Alex on the lips. "And I'm sorry I came in your mouth earlier. I should have given more warning."

"Are you kidding?"

He shrugged. "Come tastes nasty. And I wanted to spare you that the first time, at least. So it wouldn't turn you off."

"Do I seem turned off?"

"I don't know. Are you?"

There was a sharp pinch on his bottom. And another. Another. Much longer.

"Ow. Ow! Alex!"

The pinching stopped. The tickling began.

Michael lost it. He was desperately ticklish, and Alex knew all the worst spots. He kicked and hit and tried to push the other man away, but it was no use. Alex was too strong.

Finally, *finally*, Alex stopped. He dropped onto the bed next to Michael's exhausted body. Michael was still trembling, laughter in every panted breath, nerves tingling and jumping all over. He gazed at the top bunk, head spinning.

Lightly, caressingly, Alex's fingers dragged over his stomach. "Stop second guessing everything, Michael. If I don't like something, I'll tell you. But don't worry about everything. Yeah, semen isn't the best tasting thing in the world. You're not insisting I swallow, though. And I'm not insisting you swallow, either. But you know what? The taste is nothing next to the pleasure of watching you come completely undone at my hands. And mouth." He kissed Michel's shoulder. Neck. Jaw, chin, mouth. "I love you, Michael. And I would do anything to make you happy."

"Me too. You know that, right?"

Alex sighed. "Yeah, I do. And, the thing is, that kind of scares me."

He rolled to face Alex. Snuggled against him, one leg over his hip. "Don't be scared. I'm a smart boy, remember? I would never go too far, because I know you couldn't be happy."

"So you wouldn't break me out of jail if you had to?"

"Of course I would." Michael rolled his eyes. "Don't be stupid." He licked his lips. "You know, Sara's coming tomorrow."

"I know. You ready?"

"Well, I planned to cram with my notes tonight, but I mostly am. Hey! Stop pinching." He pulled Alex's hand away from his bottom. "And you need to talk to Travis."

"I know."

"At dinner. He looked rough earlier."

"He did, didn't he?" Alex sighed. He rested his head against Michael's. "I will."

"Good. Now, can you help me put more Vaseline on my rash? I'm itchy."

"Anything to keep you happy, baby. You know the world revolves around you."

"Yes," Michael responded as seriously as he could. "It does."


	46. Chapter 46

Watching someone eat shouldn't be so amusing, yet Michael at dinner had become a sort of spectator sport. Everyone watched as he picked through his tuna casserole, carefully picking out the peas and onions before laying them aside. It was the only thing left to do, practically; Michael had been at it for almost forty-five minutes and they'd all finished their meal. No one wanted to go back to their cells right away, so instead they sat, watching.

"My favorite part," Randall said after some times, "is how he hasn't eaten anything else."

"The casserole is the main dish," Michael answered without looking up. "You eat the main dish first."

"There's rules now?"

Michael just sighed and continued to pick through his food. Annoyance was written across his face, marring the heavy look of relaxation he'd worn into the mess earlier.

Alex reached out and put his hand on Michael's neck. "Leave him alone, Randall," he said, smiling easily. "He can eat however he likes."

"It's probably cold now. Nothing worse than cold tuna casserole."

"Cold tuna casserole with peas and onions in it is way worse," Michael replied immediately. He grinned and looked up.

Randall rolled his eyes. "Of course. What was I thinking?"

"I don't know." Michael grabbed a napkin and pushed the vegetables he'd picked out of his food onto it. Then he folded it up and looked at Alex. "Alex?" he said, batting his eyelashes at him.

Alex rolled his eyes. "I'll just clean that up for you, shall I?" He scooped the napkin up and rose. "I'm going to talk to Travis, too. Okay?"

Michael glanced to the table Travis and O'Connell had taken. They'd been working on something all during dinner, heads together, whispering.

"Be careful."

He nodded and squeezed Michael's neck once more. Then he crossed the room to Travis.

"Hey," he said, tossing the napkin of discarded stuff into a nearby trashcan. "Mind if I sit down?"

Travis stiffened and looked away.

"Sure, Alex," O'Connell answered. He reached out and covered Travis's hand with his own. Squeezed it. "We were talking about you, actually."

He raised his eyebrow. "Oh? Nothing too bad I hope."

O'Connell gave him a sympathetic smile. "No. Not too bad." He winked. "Enjoying the lockdown?"

He couldn't help the smile. "More than normal, I suppose. Although it's a nice day to be out and about. Not too hot. There won't be too many more days like this."

"No. Sadly not. I'm not looking forward to winter. The cold always makes my arthritis act up. And now Randall's got that broken leg, so he'll be complaining."

"We'll deal. Always do."

"You'll be out of here by then, if there's any justice in the world."

Alex just shrugged. "Do you know what caused the lockdown?"

O'Connell shook his head. "Heard some guards talking about an electrical short or a fire or something. I think something happened to the security system. We should be out tomorrow."

"I hope so. Michael has a visitor coming tomorrow. He's getting tense waiting for her to come. If it has to get put off..." Alex trailed off and shrugged. "How have you been, Travis?" he asked after a moment.

Travis looked at him, startled and wide-eyed. Quickly, he looked away. Shrugged. "Okay." He licked his lips.

"Travis," O'Connell said in a tone that was both gentle and firm at the same time.

Travis let out a long breath. Then, his shoulders straightened and he sat up. "Here." From his back pocket, he pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Alex.

He took it and opened it.

"Dear Alex," it read,

 

"Im not smart like you and Michael, so Im sorry for the mistaks Im making in the letter.

"You are the best thing thats ever happened to me in my life. You are the only person who has ever been nice to me with out wanting something from me. Bekause of that, I thought I was in love with you. And maybe I really am. I don't know. Tim (thats O'Connells furst name) says that bekause Ive never been in love, I dont really know what it feels like. All I know is I feel really safe when Im with you. Like youd never do nothing to hurt me or make me sad or anything like that.

"Im sorry I hurt you and got you in trouble with the gards. I was stupid and angry and wanted to hurt you like I felt hurt by you. It wasnt fair. Im sorry.

"And Im sorry that I made Michael jealous and angry. I dont want to loose your freindship bekause me and Michael cant get along. I shouldnt have tried to get him to break up with you. Im gonna rite him a letter to. Id like it if you and me and him culd be freinds, you know? In a place like this, we need all the freinds we can get.

"Tim says that a true friend, or someone really in love with someone, wuld be happy that their happy. If you and me culd still be freinds and talk and stuff, like we ust to, then I culd be happy that you have Michael. You are the best person in the world and you should be happy.

"Your freind,

"Travis."

Alex set the letter down on the table. When he looked up, he saw that Travis was looking back at him, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. He was chewing on a fingernail and his shoulders were so tense, they were nearly to his ears.

"Travis," he started, but Travis cut him off.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm really, really sorry for what I did. For coming onto you like that, and then getting mad when you turned me down. And then lying to Ralston about it." He bit his thumb. "It's just. I mean. Dr. Juarez says it's because I don't feel like I'm in control. And I don't. It's like everything happens to me, not because of anything I do. And I built this picture in my head about what it would be like when I got out of the nut bin. That you'd be there and we'd see each other. And you'd realize you wanted me and we'd be together, you know? But then, there was Michael, and he's perfect and beautiful and genius and you love him. And the only time anyone loves me is if I." His cheeks turned dark red. "You know."

"I never meant to hurt you, Travis."

Travis's head bobbed. "I know." He ducked his head.

Alex reached out and put his hand on Travis's arm. "I'm willing to forgive and forget if you are. Start fresh." He squeezed. "You don't have to be friends with Michael. You don't even have to like him. Just recognize that I love him and am with him. We can still be friends and hang out, if that's what you want."

He nodded. Shrugged. "Maybe I should give Michael a chance?" he asked, hesitant and questioning.

"I'd like that. I'm sure he would, too."

Travis nodded. "But, uh. Not tonight? I've still got to write his letter, and I really hope the lockdown is over tomorrow because I want to go to the library and type it on the computer. My spelling sucks, I know that, and he's a genius. I don't want to embarrass myself."

"I understand. But, even if you can't get to the computer, Michael won't think badly of you. He's very understanding."

Travis just shrugged and ducked his head more. "Still. He's, like, perfect. You know? Smart and gorgeous."

"Want me to let you in on a secret?" Alex leaned closer to Travis and dropped his voice. "Michael thinks you're beautiful, too. When you got transferred here, he got very insecure and part of that was your looks."

"But he knew what I looked like from when he was in the nut bin, too."

"It didn't register until you were here. He was too wrapped up in his own problems." Alex pat him on the shoulder. "I'm just lucky that two gorgeous men such as yourselves ever give me the time of day."

Travis ducked his head. A smile tugged at his mouth, but he fought it. "Thanks."

"All right, cons, wrap it up. You need to be back at your cells in ten," a guard called.

"I better make sure Michael finishes eating," Alex said.

"What, you're going to help him, now?" O'Connell asked, laughing.

He shrugged. "He eats like a bird. Maybe I should feed him like one, too."

Travis, cheeks red, said, "The dude won't eat peas. You think he's gonna eat something you spit in his mouth?"

Alex laughed and clapped Travis on the shoulder. "You never know. People have weird tastes." He squeezed. "I'll talk to you later."

Michael was shoving food into a napkin when he came back to the table. His mashed potatoes and most of the limp broccoli were gone, but the tuna was wrapped in several napkins scattered around the table.

"Are you kidding?" Alex asked, dropping onto the bench next to Michael.

"It tastes like glue mixed with year-old potato chips and salt. Mixed with dirt. That a bird's crapped in."

"You have to eat it. You can't just eat potatoes and broccoli."

Michael glared at him. He picked up his cookie and took a defiant bite.

"You are such a child."

"But you love me anyway."

"God knows why." He leaned over to kiss him on the forehead, then realized what he was doing. "Not even one bite?"

Michael was hiding another forkful of casserole in a napkin. He shook his head. "I'll be sick."

"Hey!" the guard said, coming up to the table. "What's all this?"

"I'm just finishing up, boss," Michael said around a forkful of potatoes.

"Why does your table look like a trash can?"

Alex began cleaning off the napkins. "Sorry, boss. I'll clean it up."

"That better not be food in there. Aren't you on a diet, Scofield?"

"It's not food." Michael blinked innocently up at the guard. As he did, he speared his broccoli and stuck it in his mouth. "My nose is runny." To prove his point, he grabbed another napkin and wiped his nose.

The guard narrowed his eyes and studied Michael a moment. Then, without changing expression, he said, "Two minutes."

Michael nodded and continued shoveling down food. With the speed he was going, Alex didn't see why he couldn't have just eaten the damn tuna. There was no way he could be tasting anything he ate.

Finally, he was done. Plate mostly clean, juice drunk, cookie demolished. Together, they finished cleaning off the table and headed back to their cell.

"How did you talk with Travis go?"

"Good," Alex answered. He reached out and hooked his finger around Michael's pinky. He could feel the scars from where the finger had been resewn under his skin. It still pained Michael sometimes, and he couldn't move it very well. Every once in awhile, he got physical therapy to work on it, but nothing like he should. It was lucky he could still draw, even still. If he hadn't been able to, someone would have to pay.

"What did he say?"

"Travis? That he was sorry. He wrote a letter. I guess O'Connell helped him with it."

"Can I read it?"

Alex ushered Michael inside their cell and dropped the sheet. "No. I mean, I have no problem with letting you, but Travis would be embarrassed. He's writing you a letter, too, but is ashamed of his spelling and everything. I wouldn't want to humiliate him."

Michael frowned as he sat on the bed. "I wouldn't say anything. Lincoln can barely spell his own name."

"Now that's just not true."

"You know what I mean. I'm not one to judge." He began unlacing his shoes.

"I know." Alex sat next to him and put his arm around Michael's shoulder. "He said he's sorry for getting me thrown in the SHU. And that he's sorry he tried to manipulate you." He lightly kissed Michael's neck.

Michael shuddered and leaned into him.

"He's a messed up kid, Michael. You, without the brain and without Lincoln looking after you." Another kiss. A light suckle on Michael's earlobe. "He needs friends who aren't going to use him."

Michael's eyes were shut and he was pressed against Alex. His breath came in short, shaky gasps, hands clenched on Alex's thighs. "You should. Be there for him, I mean." He licked his lips. "You'd be good for him."

He ran his tongue down the line of Michael's throat. "So would you. Do you think you could give him another chance? Try to help guide him along?"

Michael sighed. "Maybe." He turned and kissed Alex. "Convince me," he demanded, pulling Alex on top of him and lying down.

Alex grinned. Slipped his hands underneath Michael's shirt. "Your wish, Michael, is my desire."


	47. Chapter 47

Michael frowned into the mirror. Turned his head from side to side. Adjusted the collar of his shirt. Ran his fingers through his hair.

His frown deepened.

A rarely used brush was sitting on the sink. Michael picked it up and ran it through his hair, trying to get it to look halfway decent. He really needed to get it cut, shave it all off again. If he didn't like Alex playing with it so much, he would have done it ages ago. But then Alex would kiss him, and his fingers would tug at strands of his hair and Michael's stomach would tighten, and he kept it longer.

Sara had never seen him with hair this long. And it wasn't like it was long or anything, just... longer. A short, thick, black brush of curls that stood up from his forehead. Very unlike the buzz he'd had when they first met.

He sighed and put the brush down. It was no use; it look awful.

Arms came around him. Tugged him back. "You look fine," Alex said, resting his head on Michael's shoulder and meeting his eyes in the mirror.

"I look stupid."

"No. You look handsome." He turned his head and brushed his lips over Michael's jaw. "You also look like you're dressing for winter. Why do you have sleeves on?"

Self-conscious, Michael rubbed at his arms. They were already hot, and his scabby rash was itching from the sweat. "I don't want to disgust her."

"She's a doctor. She's seen worse than a few dried out blisters."

"It's more than a few."

"And she's still seen worse. Besides, I'm the one sleeping with you; she's just spending a few hours sitting across from you and talking."

Michael frowned and shook his head. He turned in Alex's arms. "It's to late for me to add that to my tattoos. Would you like to write it in permanent marker across my forehead?"

Alex's eyebrows hit his forehead. "You think I'm worried?"

"Are you?"

"We are getting married on December 24 whether I have to force you to the altar or not," Alex replied. "Even if you are in bed with her, and I have to walk in and drag you out of bed and march you to our wedding, we are getting married. Understand?"

Michael pursed his lips. "It's bad luck to see the person you are marrying before the wedding."

"I'd risk it for you." He leaned forward and kissed Michael. And again. And again, until Michael's head spun and all he could think of was the way Alex smelled and tasted and felt.

"This is bad," Alex murmured, mouth pressed to Michael's cheek. "A few little kisses and I don't want to let you out of my sight." He ran his mouth up Michael's face and kissed each of his eyes.

Michael slid his hand behind Alex's neck. Pulled him closer. "Too late. You already said I could meet her."

"As if I ever gave you permission." He licked Michael's ear. "I should tie you to the bed and tell the guard that you're busy when they come to get you."

A shudder went through him.

Alex immediately pulled back. "I was just kidding. I wouldn't... not without asking, ever." He caressed Michael's cheek. "You're safe with me."

This throat was bone dry. He had to work moisture back into his mouth, wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. "I know." He cleared his throat. "I... I like the idea."

Alex's eyes immediately darkened, pupils widening in desire. "Really? It wouldn't make you uncomfortable? It wouldn't..." He trailed off. Swallowed.

"I'm safe with you." He leaned forward. Pressed his mouth to Alex's. "You know. Free to... Free."

"Oh, God, Michael." Alex pushed Michael against the wall and set to ravishing his mouth. Sucking on his tongue, hands pulling at Michael's shirt. Running over his chest and stomach. Fingers teasing at his nipples, tugging and tweaking.

"Scofield! You've got a customer. Tell your daddy to back off for once."

Alex sighed into Michael's mouth. Without breaking contact between his lips and Michaels, he pulled Michael's shirt back into place. Smoothed out the wrinkles and tucked it neatly into his pants. "Remember," he said. He kissed the corner of Michael's mouth. "She probably just wants to see you. Make sure you're okay. Maybe reconnect. There's no reason to be nervous."

Michael nodded, but he couldn't help the swell of butterflies in his stomach. His fingers clenched in Alex's shirt. He pushed his mouth against Alex's again, kissing hard, seeking comfort.

"Shhh. It's okay." Alex stroke his hair.

"Guys!" the guard shouted. "Cut it the fuck out. I just ate and it won't taste half as good coming up as it did going down."

Michael forced himself to break off the kiss. He stepped back from Alex and looked at the guard. "Then I would avoid looking in any mirrors if I were you, boss."

The guard looked at him for a moment, eyes narrowed. "Scofield, did you just tell a joke?"

He swallowed. Nodded.

"Well, shit, someone mark a calendar. Scofield finally unclenched. Hallelujah. Now get your ass out of your cell and stop wasting my time."

Michael glanced at Alex, who rolled his eyes.

"Have fun." He squeezed Michael's arm and gently pushed him out of the cell.

Heart still in his throat, Michael followed the guard to the door of the cell block. He was then signed out and over to another guard and escorted to the visitor room. He can hear the guard--Simm--chatting at him, but he's not processing it. Later, he knows he will be able to recall everything that was said, but right now, his focus is on the door they're walking toward. If it wasn't tactless, he'd make an analogy about facing an execution, but even after all this time, he can't. He'd been there, on the other side of the door, watching his brother walk through it.

But he can't breathe.

"Hey."

Michael blinked. He looked down at the hand on his arm, then up at Simms.

"We can wait here, if you need."

Michael nodded. Then shook his head. "You're nice," he said. "You always... I don't know. Give leeway."

"You saved my life."

Oh. Right. "I had to." He looked at the door. He'd saved a guards life during a prison riot. Faced down McNab. Survived Nicky. He could face Sara again. "Okay. I think I'm ready."

"Just call if you need anything."

"I will. Thanks."

Simms signed Michael into the waiting area, and then opened the door to let him inside.

Sara was sitting at a table next to the window. Her chin was propped on her hand as she gazed outside, long red hair cascading down her back.

God, she was beautiful. Michael had forgotten how beautiful she was. Not just physically, either. She was sweet and nice and kind and did what she could to make the world a better place. She'd trusted him. Followed him. Been tortured for him, had sacrificed herself for him, and he'd...

He'd left her. Because he wasn't good enough. Because, as much as he had loved her, he'd never be able to live with himself without paying time for what he'd done. And she couldn't live with him for, what she felt was, needlessly hurting himself.

And so they'd parted.

Sara sighed and turned away from the window. Immediately, her eyes found Michael's. She froze slightly, then shook herself. A smile crossed her face and she rose from her seat. "Michael."

He crossed over to her. "Hi, Sara."

For a moment, they stood, looking at each other, awkward and uncomfortable.

She moved first. Stepped into him and pulled him into a tight embrace.

Michael held her. Couldn't help resting his face in her hair, breathing deep. Smelling lavender shampoo and baby powder. He pressed his hands against her back, felt her body against his, soft and lean and curvy.

It wasn't until she pulled away that Michael felt the stinging in his eyes.

Hers were bright, too, and her nose was pink. Michael wanted to kiss it, but figured that it wasn't allowed. And he and Sara had never been much for casual touching. Not like him and Alex, who never seemed to stop touching.

She blotted her nose on a tissue. "You look good."

"So do you. You, uh, you look really good."

"Thanks." She sniffed and blotted her nose again. "You want to sit?"

"Sure."

They went to the table and sat across from each other. Michael didn't know what to say. He alternated between looking at his fingers and picking at his sleeves.

"How have you been?" Sara asked, finally breaking the silence.

He shrugged. "Okay." Cleared his throat.

"Good." Silence. Then, "I have to ask. What's with the long sleeves? It's a hundred degrees today. Aren't you hot?"

"Oh. Yeah." He cleared his throat again. "I, uh, I had shingles. And now I'm kind of scabby and it's disgusting. So, I thought I'd wear the sleeves." He risked a look at her.

Sara had a look of amusement mixed with exasperation. "Michael, whatever it is, I'm sure I've seen worse. There was no need to make yourself uncomfortable on my accounted."

"Yeah, that's what Alex said, too." He tugged at his sleeve. It was hot in here. Maybe Alex had been right.

"Alex?"

"My, uh." Fiancée. "Cellmate," he finished lamely.

"Oh. So, uh. Your cellmate is... is he nice?"

Understatement of the year. "He's my best friend. I mean... yeah. I don't know what I'd do without him." He swallowed. Looked up at her. "You actually know him. Met him... or something. Alexander Mahone? The FBI agent who was... on the case? Who I turned myself in to."

Her eyes widened a touch, but otherwise she didn't react. "Oh. Okay. Well. You did say once that he seemed to know you better than anyone you met. And he reminded me a little of you. Only, well. More fidgety. But he had that same intenseness. Brilliance."

His cheeks warmed.

"I'm glad you have a friend. A good friend." She reached out and covered his hand with hers. Stroked along the back. "Lincoln told me what happened to you. The attack."

Michael nodded. He turned his hand underneath hers so their palms were pressed together.

"I'm glad you had someone in here to help get you through it."

He had to tell her. His head swum so badly, he closed his eyes to stop the spinning. It didn't work as well as he'd hoped. "Sara, Alex and I are... I mean... He and I are going to, um. Get married. Because we're together."

Her hand closed around his. "Really?"

He nodded.

"Oh. I didn't realize you were... interested in men."

Michael licked his lips. Painfully, he forced his eyes back open. "I am. I've been. I, uh, would have told you. Really. Just so you knew, not because I was ever going to leave you for a guy or anything, just... It's not something I'm ashamed of or anything, I just..."

"There was never any time. Or reason," she finished for him, squeezing his hand. "Michael, look at me."

He took a deep breath. Obeyed.

Sara was smiling softly, her face alight in the same kind patient expression he dredged from his memory on dark nights when he needed something comfortable and happy.

"I'm not angry that you never told me. It was something I didn't know about you. And I'm happy. If he makes you happy and treats you well, then I'm happy."

"So you... I mean, you're not... Why are you here?" He winced immediately. "I'm sorry. That's not how I meant it. I'm glad you're here. Glad to see you. I just...."

"I know. It's been a long time, and we've just had some letters." She released his hand and brushed hair away from her forehead. "I was so angry at you for turning yourself in, Michael. You don't deserve to be here. And when Lincoln told me what happened to you, well. Lets just say that if I was half as brilliant as you, I would have planned a way to break you out."

Michael smiled. "If you went about it the way I did, it would have required a sex change."

"Apparently, that wouldn't have been a problem for you," she shot back with a cheeky grin.

He blushed.

Sara reached out and took his hand again. "Maybe it would have worked. Another time, another place, maybe. Or maybe, we were always just too different. Good as friends, but... I want to change the world, Michael, but I'm not willing to sacrifice myself. Not the way you do. And it kills me to watch you do it." She frowned. Traced his fingers from knuckles to tip. "But I do care for you. And I miss you. I regret the chasm I've allowed to grow between us, and I'd like to fix that. As friends."

"I'd like that, to." He moved his hand so they could lace their fingers together. "I wish we had met at another time and place. Or just different. So we could see..."

"Ah, but then you wouldn't have Alex. Or we wouldn't have worked out and you would have still ended up with Alex. In any case, we'd be right back where we are. Only, maybe we wouldn't be able to start again as friends."

"Pick back up, you mean."

Sara nodded. "Right. We're picking up."

Michael squeezed her hand. "So. What's going on in your life? Seeing anyone?"

"God, no." She blushed and looked away. Pulling her hand away from Michael's, she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "I don't have time. Or I don't meet people. I just am so busy."

"Are you too busy? Or is it easier to be on your own?"

Startled, she looked at him.

He smiled. "I've been there. I'd go to work, and then maybe go out for drinks with people from work, but I wouldn't, you know. Try to expand. Meet anyone new. It was too frightening, especially in light of my failures in the past."

"It is easier. I'm not unhappy. I mean, my life is..."

"Bare," Michael finished for her. "Not very full."

Sara sighed. "No. I guess not." She pulled her hair off her neck.

"You don't have to be with someone, Sara. I mean, there are people who are alone, and they're fine, right? Happy. But it doesn't sound like you have people in your life. Your letters are... thin."

"Well, that's partly because I..." She stopped and shook her head. "Because I don't have anything in my life going on. I've wanted to write you happier letters, full of news and activities. Because I can only imagine how bored you are here, and that even a letter would help make time go by a little faster. But I have nothing to say."

"So? Find something to say."

Sara nodded. "I thought moving to California would help, but it's so different. I miss my father. I miss the hot dog vendor on the corner I used to live on. The park. The theater. The history. I miss it."

"So, come back. I'm only in here for ten more years."

Sara grinned and said, "What about the commutation you're trying to get?"

"I don't... That's more Alex's thing. If you want to hear about how we'll be getting out of here in a month or two, talk to him. You want reality, talk to me."

"Michael..."

"Don't bother," Alex said suddenly.

Michael started, jerking away from Sara. He turned.

Alex was seated with blondish man in glasses a couple tables away. Both were looking at him and Sara. Alex looked slightly exasperated.

"He being stubborn?" Sara replied, sounding only slightly stilted. Admirable, considering Alex was not only the man who'd chased them across the country, catching her, but now had caught Michael in a far different way.

"Always," answered Alex.

"Will it help, Michael, if I told you that there were petitioners outside the supermarket yesterday with a petition demanding your pardon?"

Michael's stomach dropped. For the second time, he felt so dizzy, the world swum around him. "Really?"

"Yeah. I signed it."

"I did, too," the man sitting with Alex said. "A different one, I think. I mean, location. I signed it a few weeks ago."

"I signed a petition for Michael Scofield," someone called from the back of the visitor room. "My brother said you're a decent guy, so I figured why not?"

"Um. Thanks," Michael called back, not sure to whom he was speaking.

Sara took his hand again and squeezed. "So, you see? You might just get out of here sooner than you think."

Michael nodded, aware that Alex was at his side, hand on his shoulder.

"You okay, Michael?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm.. Uh, Sara, you know Alex."

"Nice to meet you again," Sara said, holding out her hand.

Alex shook it. "Nicer this time than the last."

"Definitely."

"Sara, Michael, this is my friend and former colleague, Agent David Wheeler."

"Thanks for the Sudoku books," Michael said, feeling stupid and slow. "I mean, last time. They were... Thanks."

David smiled. "I'm glad you liked them. I brought some other kind of logic puzzles this time. A Mensa book."

"Thanks."

Alex squeezed his shoulder. "I just wanted to come over and say hello. And remind you, Sara, that you're invited to the wedding, if Michael forgets to mention it."

She nodded. "He would. Thank you. I'll be there."

"We'll send out invitations later." Then he nodded and he and David went back to their table.

Sara watched them go. "He loves you a lot. You can see it in his eyes." She turned to look at Michael. "You're lucky to have someone who loves you like that."

Michael blushed and fought back the smile that threatened to take over his face. He failed.

"Yeah," he said, feeling as if he were glowing. "I know."


	48. Chapter 48

"LJ! Wake up, LJ! We're gonna visit Daddy and Uncle Mike today. Wake up!"

LJ groaned as a small body landed on top of his. Small but solid. The air was knocked from his lungs and his stomach ached from the impact. "Cameron," he whined. "Go away."

Cameron straddled his stomach and bounced. "No. It's Saturday, LJ, remember? We're gonna go visit Daddy and Uncle Mike. You gotta wake up now."

"Too early. Go back to sleep." He wrapped his arm around Cameron's stomach and tackled him to the bed. Then he buried his own head under a pillow and snored loudly.

"LJ!" Cameron shrieked.

LJ mock sobbed. "I'm tired."

"Lincoln's making pancakes, so you gotta get up. Now!" He pulled the pillow away and threw it on the floor. "Come on." When LJ didn't move, Cameron started bouncing. "We're gonna visit Dad-dy! And Uncle Mi-ike. We're gonna visit Dad-dy! And Uncle Mi-ike."

He sighed and rolled onto his back. Cameron doing his best Tigger impression, impressively managing to miss landing on LJ as he bounced around the bed. If LJ didn't know better, he'd say Cameron was on a sugar high. But he did know better, or at least he knew Pam, and if Dad was still making pancakes, that meant all Cameron had had today was toothpaste and milk.

"Dad-dy. And Uncle Mi-ike!" Cameron continued to sing.

He was on a Daddy and Uncle Mike high.

LJ wished he were that young.

"Get up, LJ!" Cameron said abruptly, changing his song. He threw himself onto LJ, full weight.

"Oof." LJ wrapped his arms around Cameron and kissed his forehead. "You're getting too big for that, kiddo.

"No I'm not."

"Yeah, you are." He kissed Cameron again. "Okay, I'm getting up."

"Wait!"

"Are you joking?"

Cameron shook his head. He sat on LJ's lap and pulled a marker from his pocket. It was a washable marker, as all permanent markers were now banned from the house, especially since Cameron continued to draw on himself. "Can you do my back? I can't reach."

LJ took the marker, frowning. "I don't know, Cam. I'm not really that good an artist."

"But it's not done." Cameron pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the intricate pattern of lines he'd drawn over his torso. Among the lines were wobbly pictures: a flower, a heart, some circles. Across his stomach was the family portrait, something he drew obsessively on thousands of pieces of paper that were plastered everywhere: Lincoln and Pam, huge hands overlapping; LJ next to them, Cameron just in front. Then was Alex, just a little off to the side, and Michael, eyes drawn huge and blue, fringed with black, both so close to Cameron they almost smushed him. Cameron's family. "See? I got only the front."

"I know, but... Why don't you ask Uncle Mike to finish it for you?" LJ said, suddenly inspired. "He's a good artist."

Cameron looked doubtful. "But it's for him."

"I know. But he likes to draw. He'll be happy with the front and he'll want to finish it. It's what artists do."

He thought about it a minute, then nodded. "Okay. Thank you, LJ."

"You're welcome." He helped Cameron back on with his shirt and gave him the marker back. "Okay, I'll go take a shower now. Go eat breakfast. I won't be long."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Cameron beamed. "I love you, LJ." He leaned forward and kissed LJ. Then, he bounded off him and out of the room, singing his visiting song again.

Oh, to be young again, LJ thought wryly. Of course, that's was Lincoln said about LJ, especially since LJ was staying up all hours of the night (just on weekends, honest!) to IM with Cindy.

Cindy. Beautiful. Sexy. Completely brilliant. And talent, too. She was the best actor in their group.

And his scene partner.

They four classes together. They hung out before school, during lunch, and after. And then they usually talked after dinner, and chatted online after that.

It was heaven.

LJ showered and took care of the few bristles that had grown on his right jawline that night. Lincoln had been teasing LJ lately about the lopsided growth of stubble that appeared on LJ's face every other day. Pam kept telling him to stop, all the while comforting LJ that he was perfectly normal and it'd grow completely over his face as he got older.

He didn't care. Oh, he didn't like being teased, but other than that, he didn't care. Not while he had Cindy in his life.

Cameron was still singing when LJ got downstairs. His mouth was full of pancakes and there was syrup in his hair. Pam and Lincoln were sitting with their coffee and pancakes, twin looks of amused annoyance on their faces.

"Morning, everyone." He dropped a kiss on Pam's cheek, then one on Cameron's sticky-sweet cheek when the little boy let out a loud, "Me too!" and banged his fork on his plate.

"You managed to wake up," Lincoln said. "You were up until, what? Three in the morning last night?"

LJ blushed and ducked his head. "Just, uh, maybe nearly two? Probably earlier. And I knew I'd be able to get up. Today's important. Even told Cindy."

"How is Cindy?" asked Pam.

He blushed harder. "Good. Just, uh. Good."

She just smiled at him. "Good. I'm glad. You'll have to invite her over for dinner sometime."

"Maybe." Anyone else, he wouldn't be sure. His family was just so strange, what with the uncle in jail and gay and engaged to his father's girlfriend's ex-wife, whom they lived across the street from, but they all practically lived together, and he loved his family, he really did. It was just... hard to explain sometimes.

Just not to Cindy. Everything was easy with her.

"Let's go!" Cameron shouted suddenly. He banged his fork on his empty plate.

"Cameron," Pam said sharply. "Be patient."

He whined but settled back down.

LJ ate quickly. His little step-brother (well, close enough) was getting ready to burst. And, truthfully, he was anxious to visit with Uncle Mike, too. He had a good feeling about Cindy, and thought that, if he asked her out, she'd say yes. But he didn't want to rush anything. He wanted advice. And it wasn't that he didn't trust his dad, it was just... this wasn't the kind of thing they talked about. Not really. Oh, Dad knew about Cindy, and they'd talked about her. LJ had even admitted he liked her. But advice? That was Uncle Mike's place.

The drive to the prison took forever. And not just because Cameron was addicted to and old NSYNC he'd found and taken to listening to incessantly. And, worse, Pam allowed it. So LJ had to live his life with "Bye, Bye, Bye" as the soundtrack.

But it was more than that. It'd felt like forever since he'd seen Uncle Mike. Yeah, he and Dad had gone up a few weeks ago, but Uncle Mike had still be sick. Itchy and miserable and, overall, it hadn't been a fun visit. They'd gone to make sure his spirits were up, because Alex had been worried. And they'd missed him, of course, but they'd figured on waiting until Uncle Mike had felt better. Alex, though, had asked them to come.

That visit didn't count. They hadn't really talked about much, mostly just sat around, playing a game and watching Uncle Mike be miserable. And he and Dad had left, just as miserable. LJ hadn't even gotten to tell Uncle Mike about the discussion they'd had in Civics about pardoning convicted felons, and how Cindy had brought up Uncle Mike and argued that he should be pardoned. And convinced the whole class, including Mr. Avis, the teacher. And Dad hadn't gotten to mention how he'd been to an engagement ring store with LJ, just to look, and was thinking--just maybe he said--about asking Pam to marry him.

Today they would, though. Well. Not the part about the ring, since it was a surprise, but everything else. They'd get to talk about it all.

If they ever got there.

Finally, after an eternity and a half had passed, they pulled into the parking lot of the prison. From there, it was just another forty-five minutes of standing in line with everyone else who'd driven out, signing in, being led to the special needs wing. Of handing over all the stuff they'd brought to make sure there were know weapons. Of enduring the obvious file in the cake joke from at least a dozen people. Of a guard asking Cameron about his arms, then waving another guard over to have a quiet laugh (not at Cameron; both the guards liked Uncle Mike, and they'd never hurt a little boy by laughing at him. Just quietly, behind their hands.)

And then... and then..

"Daddy!"

Cameron broke away from Lincoln and streaked across the room. Alex had him off the floor and in his arms the moment the small body barreled against his.

"Hey, buddy. How's my boy?"

"I missed you, Daddy." Cameron rained kisses on Alex's face, his arms locked tight around Alex's neck.

"I missed you, too." He caught Cameron's lips before they flittered away from his own, then kissed a baby-soft cheek.

"When are you coming home?"

Alex just sighed and held Cameron tighter.

"Let him breathe, Cameron," Pam reminded. She went up to Alex and kissed him on the cheek. "Hey, you. How have you been?"

"Good. You look gorgeous. As usual."

LJ liked how Pam blushed any time Dad or Alex gave her a compliment. Like she wasn't expecting it, or was still pleased they noticed.

"Thanks. You look good, too. And, Michael. Beautiful as usual." She moved over to Uncle Mike, who was at Dad's side, and gave him a big hug.

Uncle Mike's cheeks turned red. "Hi, Pam." When he extracted himself from her, he went to LJ. "How's my favorite nephew?"

"Good." LJ hugged Uncle Mike tightly, pressing his face into his shirt. He hated that the main scent was prison laundry soap, but underneath, he could just smell Uncle Mike. His real scent, the one that meant home and safety.

"Cameron," Pam said. "Aren't you going to say hi to Michael?"

Uncle Mike pulled away from LJ and turned to Alex and Cameron. To LJ's surprise, instead of flinging himself on the other man, Cameron's face turned crimson. A huge grin crossed it, but he pressed his forehead against Alex's shoulder.

"Hi, Uncle Mike," he whispered, looking at him quickly before hiding his entire face against Alex's arm.

LJ had to clap his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. As it was, a giggle escaped. Dad whapped him on the back of the head, but he was grinning too. They all were, except Uncle Mike, who, blushing, had managed to train his face into a semblance of normalcy.

"It's good to see you, Cameron. I've missed you," he said.

"Me too," Cameron whispered with another quick glance. If possible, his face turned even more red.

This time, Michael did smile, although he looked bemused.

Alex, a smile splitting his face, kissed Cameron on the head. "Why don't we sit down?"

They got themselves arranged at a table, Alex and Uncle Mike next to each other, LJ on the other side of Uncle Mike, and Pam and Lincoln across from them. Pam put the cake box in the middle of the table and flipped open the lid.

"No, it does not have a nail file inside it," she said as she lifted the cake out.

Uncle Mike's face turned red when he read the, "Congratulations Alex and Michael," scrawled across in icing. "Thank you," he said, ducking his head.

"I'm so happy for you both." Pam took Uncle Mike's hand and squeezed. "Really. And I'm so glad you're not sick anymore. We had to eat the first cake, and it's delicious. I could hardly resist digging into this one."

The cake was cut and passed around. Cameron was still in Alex's lap, sneaking blushing looks at Michael and hiding his face. He got his cake and took a few bites, smearing some on Alex's shirt from hiding.

"We set a date," Michael said after he'd taken a bite. "December twenty-fourth."

"Christmas Eve?" LJ said.

Uncle Mike nodded, eyes lowered to his cake. "You know. It's like our Christmas present."

"I couldn't imagine a better one," Alex said. He slung his arm around Michael's neck and kissed his forehead.

Between the sweetness of the cake and that gesture, LJ had a had time not gagging. He supported Uncle Mike and his relationship one hundred percent. He'd be fine with watching them kiss, hold hands, whatever. But be cutesy? It was hard enough to take with Dad and Pam.

Uncle Mike rolled his eyes. "Alex. Don't." He looked up at Lincoln. "He thinks we'll be out of here by then, but if we're not... I mean, it's not like it'd be legal anyway, right? So. We'd need rings."

"Pam and I would be happy to start looking. Just tell us what you'd like, of course."

"We want to get them engraved. Just, we don't know with what, yet."

"I was thinking," Alex said, stroking Cameron's back. "Maybe we could choose what goes in the other's rings. As a surprise."

Uncle Mike nodded. "That's fine." Then the idea seemed to take hold, and he smiled, eyes kind of sparkling. "Yeah. I'd like that."

"We can keep a secret," Lincoln said. "Just tell us what you want, get us your ring sizes, and we'll do the rest."

"While we're on the subject, Lincoln and I have been talking about where the two of you will live when you get out. Because I, like Alex, believe it won't be too much longer." Pam smushed a piece of cake onto her plate.

Uncle Mike shifted uncomfortably. He looked down at his cake, entire being focused on eating it.

"I thought we'd live with one of you, at least in the beginning. Then get an apartment or something."

Pam nodded. "That's fine, if it's what you want. Except, well, Lincoln and I have two houses between us. And we've been talking about moving in together, which means I'd have to sell or rent my house. Or he his, depending on which we choose. So, we were talking and..."

"It just makes more sense if we sign one of the houses over to you and Michael," Lincoln finished. "If you want a house, of course."

Alex ran his hand through his hair, then lifted Cameron--who was crawling off his lap--and set him on the floor. "That's really generous."

"You're family," Pam pointed out. "Michael is Lincoln's brother, so it makes sense."

"And we'd be across the street," said Alex, directing it more to Uncle Mike. "It'd be easy for Cameron and LJ to visit. Stay the night, if they wanted."

"And the size shouldn't be a problem, because you'll need room for a studio, Michael," she said.

Uncle Mike nodded, still not looking up from his cake. "That'd be nice. I didn't have one at the loft. I mean, I wasn't doing... I sketched sometimes, painted a few. Had an easel in the corner."

Cameron bumped against Michael with his shoulder. Michael picked him up and placed him on his lap. Cameron immediately turned red again, sitting tall and proud, a silly grin on his face.

"Both houses have four bedrooms. Way too many, but the price was good, and the neighbors..." Pam looked at Lincoln and smiled in a sappy, mushy way.

What the hell was going on? Everyone was lovestruck today.

"I think it sounds good," said the perpetually optimistic Alex. "If you don't mind living with him, that is."

Lincoln rolled his eyes and put his arm around Pam. "She didn't mind putting up with you."

"Children," Uncle Mike said warningly. "Behave." He had his arms around Cameron, and Cameron looked like he was about to fly.

"What do you think, Michael?" asked Lincoln.

Alex gave Lincoln a sharp look, and LJ had to agree. He knew that they had to tiptoe around this kind of stuff with Uncle Mike. Why couldn't Dad be happy that Uncle Mike was actually looking forward to something for once? Why did he have to ask Uncle Mike's opinion about the house?

"I think that if you want to move in together, you should. Don't wait for us."

"Mikey..."

"Cameron, what's this?" Uncle Mike ran his hand up Cameron's marker decorated arm.

LJ had no idea that anyone could turn that shade of red. It was beyond red. Cameron looked like a tomato with hair.

He turned in Uncle Mike's lap and pushed himself to his knees. "It's my map," he said in a near whisper.

"Your what?"

"My map. I drawed a map of the school. Like you." Cameron shifted onto the table and pulled his shirt off.

Uncle Mike laughed, but not meanly. The smile on his face was embarrassed, but pleased. LJ could tell. "Wow," he said. He reached out and ran his fingers over the patterns. "This is impressive, Cameron."

"You like it?" Cameron looked at him through his eyelashes.

"I do. You're a good artist."

"Thank you." Cameron licked his lips. "Uncle Mike? Can you draw the back? Cause I couldn't reach." He turned to show.

Uncle Mike glanced at Pam, who nodded.

"We brought washable markers." She reached into the bag. "We had to go to the hardware store to get something to remove the permanent marker last time. It would have all washed off eventually, but it was taking much too long."

He took the markers and pulled out a blue one. "Do you want anything specific, Cameron?"

"What's that?"

"I mean, what do you want me to draw?"

"You and me."

He smiled. "Okay." As he began to draw, he pulled LJ's chair closer to his. "So. You're quiet. What's going on?"

"Nothing," he answered.

Pam turned to Alex and started talking about... something. And Alex drew Dad into the conversation, so it was basically him and Uncle Mike.

Finally.

"How's school?"

"It's good. Um, Uncle Mike?" His heart pounded in his ears.

"Yeah?"

"How do you know when you should ask someone out? Like a girl? Or a guy, or whatever? I mean. How do you know?"

"You're asking me?" he asked with a sideways look.

He shrugged. "It feels weird asking Dad."

"It shouldn't. He's your father. Plus, he has more experience with that kind of thing. I've always just let the other person do the asking."

"Even if it's a girl?"

"Pretty much. I have problems reading people sometimes, because I read so much into them. I get so caught up in all the details, that I miss things. Like interest. Unless it blatant." He looked over at Alex and smiled, a rosy glow on his cheeks.

"Alex was blatant I take it?"

"A bit," was the dry response. "So. Tell me about this person. Girl, boy, or whatever?"

He ducked his head. "Girl."

"Name?"

"Cindy. She's in my classes. Including acting class. She was a camp counselor over the summer, so she wasn't in the class. But we hit it off right away. Spend all our time together and talk and... she's great, Uncle Mike. You'd really like her." He licked his lips. "I just... I'm not sure, you know? I think she likes me. I mean, she touches me a lot and stands all close."

"I'd say go with your instincts. If you think you have a shot, ask her out. What's the worse that could happen?"

"She could say no, things get weird, and our friendship is over." He looked at his uncle, feeling desperate. "She's the best friend I've ever had."

Uncle Mike looked at him, all serious, eyes dark. He stopped drawing and rested his hand on his knee. "Alex is the best friend I've ever had." He hitched his shoulder. "It was worth the risk. And I was stuck sharing a cell if it didn't work out."

LJ sighed. "I'm being silly, huh?"

"No. Love, dating, it's a complicated thing. Frightening. There's a lot at risk. It's scarier than what I did for your father."

"But worth it?"

"When it works out." His mouth quirked. "It's easier when you're a child," he said, nodding at Cameron.

"Everything is." He lay his head on the table. "She knows all about you, you know. Everything. Even Uncle Alex. And she thinks it's the most romantic thing she's ever heard."

Uncle Mike smiled. "You're smart. And creative. You'll come up with something more romantic. I promise. You do your thing, and Alex and I will pale in comparison."

"Doubt that," LJ said, snorting. "But I will try."


	49. Chapter 49

Alex turned the page in his book without having read a word on it. His mind was buzzing. Skin crawling. Fidgety and bored and just... bored.

He sighed. Put down his book. Scooted to the edge of the bed and hung his head over. "My son's in love with you."

Michael didn't look up from his drawing, but he did smile. "I noticed."

He slid down from his bunk. Crawled onto Michael's. "Those were some serious stars in his eyes."

"Yet I barely got a kiss when he left," Michael replied, eyebrows raised.

"Probably better for you. He would have set you on fire, blushing as hard as he was." Alex leaned his head against Michael's shoulder and gazed at the drawing.

It was Cameron, standing in a room underneath a window. His body faced the window, but his torso was twisted toward the viewer. One fist was at his laughing mouth. The other was raised over his head, marker in hand, creating a world of beauty on the wall. Marker was scrawled over his skin, a confusing maze of green and blue. His dark eyes shone and cheeks flushed with laughter and youth and life.

Alex sighed, wistfulness tugging at his heart. His boy was getting older. Soon, the innocent laughter and joy would be replaced with something else. Something muted and reserved. The love he gave so freely would be masked, need to be hidden and expressed in other ways. The soft lips he pressed over and over Alex's face would be a peck, the squeezing arms around his neck would be a quick hug. His baby boy would be someone else, someone older. And Alex wouldn't know until the day arrived, missing the ones in between.

He sighed again. "After he finally crawled on your lap, it was like no one else existed."

"Like father like son." Michael turned his head and kissed Alex on the head. "He noticed you. He loves you."

"I know. I just..." He shook his head. "He's getting so big. So grown up."

Michael set his drawing aside. Turned to Alex. "I'm sorry you're missing it." Too contrite.

Alex turned. Extended his legs on either side of Michael's body and folded them around, drawing him into a circle of embrace. "It's not your fault," he said, framing Michael's face with his hands.

"I know."

"It's not."

He blinked. "I know." He sniffed and looked away. Licked his lips. "He's almost." Stopped talking. Licked his lips and tried again. "He's almost the age I was when... When Mom died."

Alex ran his knuckles over Michael's cheek.

"He's so smart. So full of life. And so unafraid." He took a shaky breath "Still a child. I wasn't. After Mom died. I couldn't. It was too... We went to Veronica's. Her dad drank. Beat up her. Me, a few times. And Lincoln couldn't... I had to grow up."

"I know." He couldn't stop stroking Michael's face. Petting him. Over smooth cheeks and down the long neck.

"He's so lucky. But I'm scared. Something's going to hurt him. I just want to..." He stopped and looked over at his drawing.

Alex smiled, tired. "Yeah. If I could keep him the way he is, I would. But you know that's impossible. And wouldn't be a good idea anyway, if we could. Because, no doubt, if you applied your mind to it long enough, you'd come up with a way."

Michael laughed. Leaned forward and rested his forehead against Alex's. "Do you think Pam would really consider surrogacy?"

"Probably. But, she's had problems getting pregnant in the past. I want her to concentrate on her and Lincoln first." He pulled Michael closer and kissed him. "And I want a year with you. A year of marriage, the two of us, plus Cameron and LJ, before we have our own." Kissed him again. "Of course, there are benefits of being the uncle and ex-husband across the street." He moved closer, easing Michael down onto the bed.

"Drop the sheet," Michael whispered.

Alex climbed off the bed and did as Michael asked. As he came back, he stripped out of his shirt. Toed off his shoes.

"What if I designed a house?" Michael asked, tossing his shirt to the ground. "For all of us."

"Do you really want to live with all of them?" He kissed Michael's neck. His collarbone. Ran his hands up the too skinny torso.

"Some days, I think it'd be nice if we could all just find a place. Live there. Away from everyone. Just us."

"That's crazy fundamentalist talk there." He nipped at blue-inked skin.

Michael's back arched. Hands came around Alex. One slipped between them. Thumbed open Alex's pants. "Eccentric millionaire. Find an island. Build a palace." He pushed Alex's pants and underwear down. "Swim naked in the ocean and build sandcastles on the beach."

He purred softly against Michael's stomach. "Sounds like heaven."

"Doesn't it?" Michael took Alex by the hips and pushed him over, flat on his back. He kissed down Alex's bare chest. Took a nipple in his mouth and sucked.

Alex's stomach tightened. Sweat burst over his body, the temperature going supernova.

"I don't care," Michael said suddenly. He took Alex's hard cock in his hand. Stroked it, twisting his wrist. "If we don't get out. If our sentence isn't commuted. I don't care. They keep us together in the same cell, they keep us in special needs, that's all I want. To be with you. Here. Out there. It doesn't matter."

He sat up. Wrapped his arms around Michael and pulled him back down. Kissed him, deeply, one leg wrapped around Michael's waist. "It's enough for me."

"Almost."

"With all the sins I've committed in my life, I will take what happiness I can. What contentment I can." Michael's lips were addictive; once he started kissing them, it was always so hard to stop. "I'm content with you."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Just content?" He smirked. Rode his hips into Alex's.

"Content," Alex groaned, pleasure pulsing hotly through his groin. "Dizzy. Wanton. Needy." He licked the soft indent underneath Michael's ear. "God, I wish you would take me already."

He exhaled against Alex's neck. Kissed him there once, then pulled away.

Alex opened his eyes. Michael was peeling his pants off. Setting them on the floor. Ran his hands down his long, lean thighs, then reached underneath the mattress. Pulled out the tube of lubricant and condoms Dr. Parsons had given them so long ago.

He set it next to Alex. Sat a moment. Swallowed. His eyes closed and he took slow, measured breaths.

"Michael. If you're not ready..."

He shook his head. Turned and leaned over Alex. "Sometimes, I still can't believe that you even want me," he said.

"How couldn't I?"

Michael kissed him. Stroked his hand down Alex's stomach. Over his hip. "Too thin. Scared. Stupid tattoo. Crazy."

"Beautiful. Genius." Alex ran his palms over Michael's shoulders.

"Scarred," he said when Alex's hand ran over a scar, hidden underneath intricate drawings.

"Refined." He pulled Michael down. Kissed him, drawing the clever, teasing tongue into his mouth. "Michael."

Cool, slick fingers pressed against Alex's entrance. He shifted. Tried to relax. Pushed back.

Michael's fingers slipped inside.

He gasped. Nipples tightened. Goose bumps rose over his skin.

Michael kissed deeper. Hummed against his mouth. His own arms wound around Michael's neck. Kissed harder.

"Do you want to roll on your stomach?" Michael asked. Two of his fingers slid in and out of Alex slowly, allowing him to adjust. "It might be easier."

"Mmmm. No. This is fine."

Michael's fingers went deeper. Alex arched his neck. Inhaled sharply.

"You're taking this well. My first time, I was so tight. So nervous."

"I'm nervous." He bit Michael's neck. Sucked the hot, salty flesh. "I've been, ah... experimenting a bit."

Michael smiled. "Wondered why the tube's been used so much. Seemed like more than we'd used for handjobs and stuff." He licked along Alex's jaw lightly. "I love you so much." He slid another finger in.

"Ah," Alex gasped. His hands fell away from Michael. Clutched at the bedspread. His hips undulated as Michael pumped into him. Moved in a wave, Michael's fingers moving in, through. His stomach tight, nerves on edge. Sparks dancing over them, over his skin. Blood rushing, heart pounding.

Another fingers added.

"No." He shook his head. Opened his eyes, vision blurred. "Michael. Please. I want you. You, not... please. Please."

Michael smiled. A blushed danced over his cheeks. "I think I like it when you beg."

"You've got me trapped," he said, smiling crookedly. "I've got no shame."

"No need for shame." Michael pulled out his fingers. Rubbed his cock--hard, nearly purple, jerking in his hand. He picked up a condom and, opened it with shaking fingers. Rolled it over his cock before slicking it with more lube. His mouth was open, breath coming fast. Eyes glazed as he looked down at Alex.

He leaned over Alex. Kissed him as he pulled Alex's hips closer to his own. There was an awkward moment. An uncomfortable pressure. And then...

The give of muscle as Michael sank into him was unlike anything he'd ever felt. A wave washed over him. Another. Heat and pleasure and fire. It crawled over his skin. Pressed against him. Built.

"Oh, Jesus," Michael gasped in his ear. His fingers dug into Alex's arms, too tight; they'd leave bruises.

He didn't care.

Michael's hips moved. Drove into Alex. Moving in time, together. Their bodies, in tandem. Alex slid his arms around Michael and held. Lifted his head to kiss Michael's jaw. His neck. Follow a drop of sweat as it rolled down his shoulder. Fingers twist his nipple, tugging.

"I can't.." Michael gasped suddenly. "Oh, God, Alex...."

His entire body tightened. Eyes squeezed, shoulders drew up to his ears. He threw his head back, face twisted into something not unlike a grimace. "Oh," he grunted. And again.

And he was coming. Pulsing, his body heaving suddenly with the movement. Everything flush and pink, glowing and shiny with sweat and the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Alex reached for his cock. Took it in hand and pulled, transfixed by the sight of Michael, shuddering in the aftermath of his orgasm. Stroked once, and again and then Michael's sticky-slick hand joined his and stroke. His hot wet mouth covered Alex's, licked against his tongue and... and...

He came, groaning into Michael's mouth.

The world swum around him. He closed his eyes. Clung to Michael. Michael, whose face was buried in his neck, sweat mingling with Alex's own.

A guard banged on the bars. "Still in there?" he called.

Alex forced moisture back into his throat. "Yes, boss."

"Sheet's gotta come up by the time I come round again. This ain't the Hilton, boys."

Michael snorted. Waited until the footsteps retreated before rolling off Alex. After the condom was off and thrown away, he looked at Alex, shyly, from beneath his eyelashes. "So," he said. "Are you sorry you asked me to marry you?"

Alex smacked him lightly before pulling him back down into a sweaty, sticky embrace. He kissed Michael thoroughly, until they were both breathless. "Boy," he whispered, drawing his thumb down Michael's face. "You will be lucky if I ever let you out of bed now." Kissed him again. "Thank you. That was wonderful. Just like I always knew it would be."

He blushed. Averted his eyes. "Well. You inspire me."

"So do you." He pulled Michael down to lay next to him. Kissed his cheek. "You make me want to do great things."

"All I want is for you to love me."

"Loving you is the greatest thing I can ever do."

Michael snorted, blushed. "I love you too, Alex." He yawned.

"Go to sleep. I'll keep you safe."

"Yeah." His eyes closed and he snuggled against Alex's drowsily. "I know."


	50. Chapter 50

"Hi, I'm Lincoln Burrows," Lincoln said to the woman sitting at the front desk. "You called me about Cameron?"

The woman looked up and nodded. "He's just down the hall in front of the principal's office. I'll call and let her know you're here."

"Thanks." He quickly followed where she was pointing.

Cameron was sitting in a chair, looking miserable. There was an ice pack held against his right eyes, tears streaming down his face. Snot crusted his nose and there was dirt and asphalt caked on his clothes.

Lincoln knelt in front of Cameron. "Hey."

Cameron looked up. "Lincoln!" His face crumpled. He dropped the ice pack and lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Lincoln's neck. "I'm sorry," he sobbed against Lincoln's neck. His whole body trembled.

He was so much like Michael it was scary. Like Michael, this kid didn't just feel with his heart; it was with his entire body.

"What happened, kid? What's going on?"

"Mr. Burrows?"

He stood, taking Cameron with him. "Yes, hi."

The woman in front of him was very short with dirty blonde hair. She looked up with him with an unquestioned air of authority. "I'm Ms. Lambert, the principal. Mrs. Mahone wasn't available?"

"No, she's with a client. I tried to get a hold of her, but I just got her voice mail."

Ms. Lambert nodded. "That's all right. If you could step inside, please? I'd like to talk before you take him home."

Lincoln rubbed Cameron's back and followed Ms. Lambert into the office. She closed the door behind them, then sat down behind her desk. "As I was saying when we spoke over the phone, Cameron was involved in a fight today."

"What happened? How did it start? Cameron?"

Cameron pulled his face from Lincoln's neck. "Brian said Daddy's a queer and going to hell. And that I'm probably queer, too. And that Daddy's going to die in jail and he deserves it. And I told him to take it back and he said no. So I pushed him, and then he hit me, and then he hit me again and kicked me in the stomach, so I pushed him again and he fell down and scraped his face. Then he said that queers should be killed and kicked me again. Then Mr. Padilla came and stopped us."

His hands tightened on Cameron's body. Rage boiled in him, and he wanted nothing more than find the other boy and teach him a lesson. And then teach his parents a lesson, because that's where it had to have come from. "Cameron's not in trouble because of that, is he? That other kid provoked him. He... he can't say things like that. He..."

"Mr. Burrows, please, calm down," Ms. Lambert said. "Cameron was clearly provoked. What Brian was saying falls under the category of hate speech. I'll be talking more with him and with his parents. However, Cameron did push first. He needs to learn to deal with this kind of thing in other ways."

"What kind of thing?" Lincoln asked flatly.

The woman gazed back unblinking. "People not agreeing with him. Make no mistake, Mr. Burrows. We have an anti-bullying policy at this school. Brian will be punished for both his actions and his words. The other students will be reminded what is and is not allowed here. However, we can't always stop it from happening, and that's why the students themselves need to learn how to diffuse a situation through words or how to walk away."

"So because his father's gay, Cameron has to learn to play nice?"

"Everyone needs to learn to be nice, no matter what their beliefs, home life, sexuality, or whatever. Everyone needs to learn to deal with things without resorting to violence."

"Am I spended?" Cameron asked tearfully. "Cause I'm sorry I got in a fight." He sniffed and wiped his face on Lincoln's shirt.

He could see Ms. Lambert soften slightly. "No, Cameron, you're not suspended. You have, however, lost your recesses for the rest of the week. Every recess, you come right to the office with a book, do you understand?'

"Yes."

"And you have detention during Friday Fun Time next week."

"Okay."

"And I'm going to have a conference with your mother, too."

His chin trembled. "No. Don't tell Mommy I was bad, please."

Lincoln kissed his forehead. "We have to tell her, buddy. We can't keep this from her."

"No!" Cameron sobbed and pushed his face back against Lincoln's neck.

"Can I take him home?" Lincoln asked, holding Cameron tight.

"Yes, that's fine. His homework's in his backpack. Mr. Burrows, I hope you know, that I do feel bad for what Brian said. He never should have, and... Cameron is a very sensitive child. Incredibly well behaved. Artistic and intelligent and just a joy."

Well. That was better. "Thanks." He shook hands with her once more, then left.

"Can we see Daddy?" Cameron asked once they were in the car.

"No, buddy, we can't. Maybe we'll go this weekend. We'll see."

More tears flowed down his face. "But I want to see him now." He wiped his cheeks. "Is Daddy really going to hell?"

"No. No, Cameron." He sighed. Checked his blind spot and changed lanes. "Cameron, hell is only... it's only for bad people, okay? Your dad is a good man. He wouldn't go to hell."

"Where is hell?"

Mentally, Lincoln cursed religion, Brain, and whoever had first come up with the concept of hell. He hadn't been to church in years, not since he'd been in Fox River. He'd grown up religious, church every Sunday and on holidays, at least until his mother had died. As an adult, it'd gotten even more sporadic until, after prison, he just didn't anymore.

He didn't know about Pam's religious beliefs. She didn't go to church, that much he knew. But that didn't necessarily mean anything.

Still. The answer to that question wasn't necessarily theological. Especially since the answer was pretty simple.

"I don't know where hell is. I won't ever find out, either. Neither will you or your Daddy or Mom or LJ or Uncle Mike. So don't worry about it, kiddo. Okay?"

Cameron nodded. He was silent the length of three more blocks. Then, "Lincoln? What's a queer?"

Fuck.

"Cameron..." He broke off when he cell phone rang.

Grateful, he pulled it out. It was Pam. "Hey," he said.

"I just got your message. What happened? Is Cameron okay?"

"Cameron's fine. He's got a black eye and some scratches, but he's okay. Just a little shook up."

"What happened?"

"One of the other kids was giving him a hard time about his father. He gave the kid a hard time."

Pam sighed. "Is he suspended?"

"No. But he's lost his recess. All Cam did was push; the other kid used his fists."

"Pushing is not okay either, Lincoln," she said a touch sharply. "Don't sound proud."

He rolled his eyes. "Right, sorry. Look, I'm almost home. Where are you?"

"A few blocks away. I'll see you soon."

Lincoln hung up. "Okay, Cameron. When we get home, I want you to go right to the bathroom and wash up. Then we're going to put more ice on your cheek."

"Okay, Lincoln." He sighed, a deep, heartfelt sigh that came all the way up from his toes. "Is Mommy mad at me?"

"No. She's not mad." He glanced at Cameron in the rearview mirror. Saw his lower lip trembling. "What's wrong, buddy?"

Another tear escaped from those deep brown eyes. "Does she still love me?"

Seriously. Michael all over again. And they weren't even related. "Yes, she still loves you. Of course she does. Your mom ain't never going to stop loving you, Cameron, no matter what. Neither will you dad or me or LJ or Uncle Mike. Family doesn't stop loving Cameron. Don't worry."

"What if... what if they send me to jail?"

He pulled into the driveway. Unbuckled his seatbelt and turned around. "Has Mommy stopped loving your dad because he's in jail?"

Cameron shook his head. Shrugged. Rubbed his eyes. "They aren't married anymore. And Daddy says they'll never be married again. Maybe they don't love each other. Maybe Mommy stopped."

"No, Cameron. She hasn't stopped loving him." He unbuckled Cameron from his safety seat. Pulled him to the front. "They got divorced for other reasons. It had nothing to do with them not loving each other."

"Is it because Daddy's queer?"

Okay, it shouldn't be funny. But it was. To hear the innocent question, the quavering voice, the offensive word issued in an effort to understand. Heart wrenching, of course, but funny, too.

He kissed the top of Cameron's head. "No, it's not. Sometimes, no matter how much you want things to work, it just doesn't. Your mom and dad couldn't stay married anymore. It has nothing to do with them not loving each other anymore, because they do. It's just a different kind of love. Sort of like you and LJ. You two love each other, but you wouldn't get married."

"I would marry Uncle Mike."

Lincoln bit back a smile. Cameron had declared his desire to marry Michael very soon after their last visit. None of them had been very surprised, considering that Cameron had talked of nothing but Uncle Mike since they'd returned. No one had yet pointed out to him the impossibility of his dream.

"I know," Lincoln said now. "But you wouldn't marry LJ."

Cameron shook his head.

"That's sort of how your mom and dad love each other now. And your mom and I love each other like you love Uncle Mike. Same with your dad and Uncle Mike."

"Are you going to marry Mommy?"

"I want to," he replied honestly.

"And you'll be my daddy?"

"I'll be one of your daddies. You'll have three: me, your dad, and Uncle Mike. We'll all be your daddies."

He frowned. Sniffed. "If Daddy marries Uncle Mike, that means I can't, right?"

Lincoln kept his face serious. Rubbed at the tear stains on Cameron's cheek with his thumb. "Well. No, you can't marry him. But he'll be your daddy. And there's someone out there for you, probably more your age. And you wouldn't want to make your dad unhappy, would you? Because you know he would be, if you married Uncle Mike instead of him."

Cameron thought about it. Chewed on his lower lip. Sighed. "Okay. Daddy can marry him. Uncle Mike can be my daddy. But, Lincoln, if Daddy's my daddy, and you're my daddy, and Uncle Mike's my daddy, what do I call you and Uncle Mike?"

"I don't know." He opened the door and climbed out. "We'll have to figure that out, I guess. Maybe you don't have to call Uncle Mike 'Daddy.' You could keep calling him Uncle Mike. And I'm fine if you call me Lincoln. You don't have to call me daddy."

He sniffed. Wiped his nose on Lincoln's shirt. "Lincoln? What's queer mean?"

Damnit. "Well. It..." A knock on the car window startled him. Lincoln turned, expecting to see Pam.

Instead, there was a well-dressed woman standing just outside, her dark eyes peering inquisitively into the car.

He opened the door and stepped out. "Yeah?"

"Mr. Burrows?" she said, looking up at him.

"Yeah. What do you want?"

"I'm Jenny Chung, a reporter with the Chicago Sun Times."

He sighed. "What now?"

"I'm sorry if this isn't a good time. But my editor wanted me to get a quote from you about the efforts to convince the president to pardon your brother."

Lincoln slammed the door of the car. Opened the back to pull Cameron's backpack out. "What about it? I think it's great. Is that what you need?" He began walking to the front door.

"Are you involved at all with the group's efforts?" she asked, practically jogging to keep up with him.

"No, I'm not. A couple of kids came by about a month or so ago. Said Michael tutored them when they were living at a shelter or something? And that they wanted to get him pardoned."

"Oh, you mean Shelly Gilmore and Andrew Alcantar? It was an intervention group for at-risk students," Jenny said, flipping through her notebook. "He tutored them about seven years ago. Shelly's pre-law at Chicago State now, and Andrew is studying to become a nurse. They've come together in an effort to correct what they feel is a gross injustice."

He stopped on the porch. Turned with Cameron still in his arms. "Uh-huh?" He rubbed Cameron's back.

"So. You said they came and talked to you?"

"Yeah. They came, told me what they wanted to do. I told them they had my blessing, but I wasn't going to work with them or anything."

"Don't you want your brother to be pardoned?"

"Of course. But I think it's more realistic to hope that he gets a commutation. That's what he applied for. That's what the warden is pushing for, that's.... that's his best shot, okay?"

"The warden had him apply for commutation of service?" Jenny said, scribbling in her notebook. "What prompted that?"

He considered just closing the conversation, then reconsidered. Maybe getting the story of what Michael had done would help him. So, he shifted Cameron again and said, "There was a riot a few months ago. Two guards were hurt. Michael and his cellmate, Alex Mahone, rescued the guards and worked to keep them alive. I know one guard's back at work now; can't remember about the other one. Anyway, after that, the warden felt that Michael and Alex probably don't need to be there and he could use the space for criminals who do need to be locked up."

"That's amazing," she said, still writing furiously. "And Alex Mahone's the man who hunted him, right? For the FBI?"

"That's my daddy," Cameron said around his thumb.

"Don't suck your thumb, Cam. Why don't you go inside and read or something?"

"Can't. My leg hurts. It's broken." He wrapped his arms tighter around Lincoln's neck.

"Yes," Lincoln said to the reporter. "Alex Mahone was the FBI agent assigned to bring in the Fox River Eight. Michael turned himself into Alex at the end, and now they're cellmates. And good friends."

"They're gonna get married, which is why I can't marry Uncle Mike, but that's okay because otherwise Daddy would be sad. He loves Uncle Mike," Cameron said.

Shit. "That's all. No further comments," Lincoln said. He quickly opened the door.

"But wait! Mr. Burrows, is what he said true? Are they really..."

He shut the door on the last of he questions. Leaned against the door. "Oh boy, Cameron," he said. He kissed Cameron on the top of the head.

"What?" He blinked. Frowned, chin trembling again. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked tearfully.

"No. No, buddy, you didn't say anything wrong at all." He kissed the top of Cameron's head. Moved to set him down, but Cameron whined.

"My leg hurts!"

"No, it doesn't."

"It's broken!"

"Stop whining, Cameron. You need to..."

"Lincoln!" The door opened and Pam squeezed through. "What did you say to that reporter? She was shouting at me about Michael and Alex getting married?"

He shook his head. "It wasn't me. Cameron told her."

Her eyes narrowed and she tilted her head. "Lincoln..."

"Mom? What's a queer?"

Her eyes went wide. "Please tell me that woman didn't call anyone a queer?" she said, voice clearly threatening violence.

"No." He put his arm around her waist and guided her further into the house. "No. It... we have a lot to talk about."

"Yes," said Pam. "Apparently we do."


	51. Chapter 51

Michael sighed for the millionth time. Turned the page in his book. Stared sightlessly at the words on the page. Sighed again. Checked his watch.

Four-thirty. Two more hours until wake-up.

He couldn't sleep. No matter what he did, he just... couldn't. And he didn't know why, either. He wasn't upset or anxious or worried about anything. There wasn't anything pressing on his mind. No big project, no responsibility. Nothing to do but wake up, walk through his day, and come back to the cell.

And, yes, okay. It was boring. The routine. He'd been here almost seven months. The first few had been fraught with tension and anxiety and change. The attack and recovery. The riot and aftermath. His art. Ricky. Travis. There'd been a lot to do, a lot to worry about and keep track of.

Now there was nothing. Just the monotony of the day. He knew what to expect each day. What he'd be doing. The same thing, all the time.

The only thing that changed was Alex. Him and Alex and the hours they stole together, alone in their cell. Precious moments where everything was... perfect.

Except, nothing was perfect. Alex had pulled a muscle in his leg the other night when they'd had sex. He'd been limping the past few day, pain written in his face. And even though Alex wouldn't say anything--except to laugh about getting old and the body pangs were worth it, because it'd been wonderful--the guilt wouldn't go away. Alex should have been topping. He wouldn't have gotten hurt that way; the position would have been easier for him. But Michael had been selfish, and now Alex was hurt.

He hated it here. Of course he did. Everyone hated prison. It wasn't a place that one went to for fun. It was to punish.

Michael was tired of being punished.

He closed the book. Rose from the table he'd been sitting at and went back to the bed. Alex was sleeping on his side, one arm under his head. His mouth was open, and he sighed slightly every time he exhaled. By this time of night, his breath wasn't the freshest, but Michael didn't care.

It was amazing how being in love made things that were normally so important insignificant. Or, at the very least, tolerable. Bad breath. Snoring. Eating habits. The way he sometimes hummed while they were playing chess. Or how he left orange peels on the table instead of his tray. And how after Michael put his shoes away at night, Alex always moved them because they weren't aligned right or something. Or how Alex put the toilet paper so it came out under instead of over.

Okay, yes. So, sometimes, some things about Alex irritated Michael. But he could put up with all of it and more if it meant he got to spend the rest of his life with Alex.

He sighed. Closed his eyes and moved closer to Alex. Felt the warmth from his body reach out and envelop him.

Tomorrow--today, really, but it didn't count until after coffee--they'd wake up. Eat breakfast together, probably joined by O'Connell, Randall, and Travis. Then they'd come back to their cell and clean it out. Alex would clean the sink and toilet while Michael scrubbed the floor. They'd change the sheets on their bed and send their laundry out and hope they got the same clothes back.

Then Alex would go to anger management. Michael would work on a painting (turns out, 'Living Frankenstein' did have a companion piece). Alex would come back. They'd have lunch. Watch Alex's soap opera. Play chess or cards or Scrabble. Go outside. Come back and eat dinner. Shower. Go to bed.

Then, they'd do it all again the next day. And the day after that. And every day after that with unceasing monotony until they were finally released.

Except, of course, for days when they were visited and, of course, when they got married. Bright spots in an endlessly grey life.

He'd get through it. He knew he would. But, right now, in the dark, sleepless night, he just couldn't see how.

The alarm went off suddenly, startling him. Michael snapped awake, found himself staring into an alert pair of beautiful blue eyes.

"Morning," Alex said. He ran his thumb over Michael's cheek.

He blinked groggily. "Morning." A huge, jaw-cracking yawn overtook him.

"You okay?"

"Tired. Couldn't sleep last night." He closed his eyes and snuggled close to Alex.

Alex's arms wrapped around Michael. He kissed the top of his head. "Why not?"

"Don't know. Just couldn't. I spent most of the night reading and sketching." He yawned again. "Just fell asleep around four-thirty."

"When we come back after breakfast, maybe you should try taking a nap. Catch up on what you missed."

He whined in the back of his throat. "Can't I just sleep now?"

Alex's arms tightened around him.

"I know," Michael sighed. "No luxury of a long morning in bed. Of breakfast and coffee under the covers. We have to follow the set routine of the day. Up for count, breakfast in the mess. Like children, our lives are not our own."

"This is not going to be a good day, is it?"

"Not really."

"Anything in particular that brought this on?"

He shrugged, face still buried in the crook of Alex's neck. "Boredom. Guilt. The usual."

"Guilt?"

"For hurting you."

Hands tightened on Michael's skin. "It was an accident. A pulled muscle. It's nothing. A little ice, a little aspirin, and a few days rest. That's all."

"It shouldn't have happened." Michael pulled his face away. Rested it on the pillow. "I shouldn't have let it happen. Be so selfish."

"It felt pretty generous to me, Michael."

He shook his head. "I should have let you top."

"You're not ready."

"But you would have liked it better."

"Don't say that. You don't know that. And, what we did, I liked just fine. I also want to do it again. And again. And again. And for the rest of our lives." He kissed Michael. Rested their foreheads together. "Just, maybe next time, a different position. And, I need to start stretching, become more limber. Exercise more."

He sighed. "Every time... every relationship. I'm supposed to let you be on top."

"Why?"

"Because..."

"Ten minutes!" a CO shouted down the block.

"Christ," Alex muttered. "Fuck." He moved closer and kissed Michael. Framed his face with both hands. "This isn't over. We will talk about this." He got out of bed. Crossed the cell to the toilet. "Do you prefer being penetrated?" he asked as he relieved himself.

Michael rolled onto his back. Stared at the bed above him. "Normally, yes. I like the way it feels. I like it when... when the other person just takes charge and makes it so I don't have to think. Takes away my ability to think."

He finished and flushed the toilet. Turned. "Have you ever been in a relationship where you were allowed to do the topping? Regularly, I mean?"

He shook his head. "Well. Jack. If it'd lasted longer. He didn't care about position and he wasn't hung up on roles. It was all about what felt good, and what made it... special."

"You're not ready for me to penetrate you, Michael. You're not."

His throat tightened. "I know. But I want..." His chin trembled. "I want you to be happy."

"I am."

Michael shook his head. "How can you be? How can you be comfortable? You've been straight your entire life. You've never even thought... not seriously. And then I...." He swallowed hard. "You only... because of what happened to me. Because I can't... I can't bear the thought of anything touching me there right now, you don't have a choice."

"Of course I do. I.... Hold on." He turned and washed his hands. When they were dried, he came over and sat on the mattress. Touched Michael's cheek. "I have a choice. Anal sex isn't the only kind of sex. What we've done up until now--frottage and hand jobs and blow jobs--I've enjoyed that. And if I hadn't wanted you to fuck me, I wouldn't have asked. It was my choice. I wanted it." He bent down and kissed Michael on the cheek. "And, trust me. I've had worse injuries from sex before."

Michael snorted and rolled his eyes.

"I was twenty years old and my girlfriend wanted to have sex in the kitchen. We were on the table. She was on top of me, riding me. And the table broke. I smacked my head on the floor and blacked out. I didn't come to for fifteen minutes and, by that time, I was already in an ambulance. A pulled legs muscle is nothing. It happens more often than you'd think."

"Really?"

"It seems that at least a few times a year, I either pull a muscle in my side or my leg while having sex. Maybe I need to take up yoga."

Michael couldn't help but laugh. "Maybe." A tear slipped from his eye.

Alex wiped it away. "Please don't tell me that you stayed up all night because you felt guilty about not bottoming for me."

"No." He shook his head, another tear slipping out. "No. That was only part of it." He swallowed. "I want to. I want you inside me. I want to feel you in me. Because I know I could relax, give myself over to you completely, more than I ever have been able to give myself to anyone. But I just can't. I'm too scared."

"I know." He cupped Michael's cheek. Stroked his jaw. "We'll get through it. Look how far we've come."

Michael nodded. Sniffed and nodded again. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

"I always am."

He laughed. "Oh, are you?"

"Yes." Alex bent down and kissed him. Kissed him again, hands warm and damp, running over his skin. His jaw and neck and spreading heat through Michael's body. Unknotting muscles until Michael was so warm and relaxed and languorous.

There was a loud tone. Metal clank. The bars slid open.

"Count!"

They broke apart. "Ready for the rest of the block to see your pajamas?"

Michael rolled his eyes. "I hate prison."

"Join the club."


	52. Chapter 52

"I just... I don't get it, Alex," Travis said, stirring the leftover gravy around on his plate. "It's like it's written in a different language or something. I'm never gonna pass this class without any help. So. Could you help me?"

Alex shrugged. "I can try, sure. But I'm not that good of a teacher and, really, Michael is better at math than I am." He glanced over at Michael.

Michael wasn't paying attention. He was droopy-eyed over his coffee cup, half-asleep and on some other planet.

He kicked him under the table. "Michael."

"Yeah?" He blinked and looked up at Alex. Inhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Oh. What kind of math is it, Travis?"

"Uh, like an introduction course? Through the community college. Just basic stuff."

Michael glanced over at Alex, one eyebrow raised.

Alex just gave him a smile. Yes, Michael was better at math and, yes, Michael had actual experience with tutoring. But that wasn't the reason he suggested Michael for the job, and they both knew it. He wanted to give Michael and Travis a chance to work together. To get to know each other a little better. If they still didn't like one another after that, it was fine, but at least they would have tried.

"Yeah, I can help you. How about later today we try working in the rec room? Before lunch?"

Travis gave a blinding smile. He looked relieved. "Thanks, Michael. I really appreciate it. My doc said I should really think about going to college when I get out, so I've been taking these community college courses. I have to pass this class. And I just can't. I'm taking this literature class too, and it's not easy, but I can do it. But math? I've always been so bad."

"Math is all about rules and processes. Once you learn them, it's pretty easy to just... apply old rules to new things. I just.... Okay, I'm sorry, but is it just me, or are all the guards talking about us?" Michael interrupted himself.

Alex frowned and looked where Michael was looking. Over by the wall was a group of four guards. Simms was in the middle, holding a paper. All the others were looking over his shoulder, reading. Talking, and looking up at different times at Michael and Alex.

He looked around. The other guards were doing the same things. Talking softly with one another and shooting looks in their direction.

"It's not paranoia if everyone's out to get you," he said.

"I don't think they're out to get us, but I would like to know what's going on. It can't be about going to count in our pajamas this morning; that wouldn't be in the paper."

"Yeah, but it was funny," said Travis.

"Wait until it happens to you one day," Alex said. "You don't wake up in time to dress or your towel disappears in the shower. Then you'll see how funny it is."

"I'll know who to come after it that happens. You think you're ready for war, old man?"

Alex flicked a piece of gravy soaked biscuit at Travis. "Who you calling old, pipsqueak?"

Travis laughed and threw a spoon of gravy at Alex. It fell short and fell to the table with a wet splash.

Michael sighed. "That's disgusting. Both of you." He grabbed a napkin and started soaking it up.

"Michael, Alex," Simms said, standing over their table.

"They started it," said Michael quickly. "I'm just cleaning up. I didn't throw any food."

That got a smile from the uncharacteristically somber Simms. "Nevertheless, the warden wants to see you two."

"What's going on?" Alex asked, standing. He winced as his leg twinged, but brushed it aside. He and Michael bussed their breakfast tray and followed Simms.

"Newspaper article about the two of you. Nothing bad, but, uh. Your brother's here, Michael. At least that's what Carl said. So. Probably has something to do with that group that wants to pardon you. There were some reporters at a bar a bunch of COs go to the other night, asking about what we thought about it."

"What did you say?" Alex asked. He slipped his hand into Michael's and squeezed.

"I said I thought you both should be pardoned. That you were good guys, you saved my life. You know, the truth."

Michael's hand was stiff in his. Cold. Alex had no idea how he did that. How emotional distress made his hands go ice cold and his palm sweat. It was uncomfortable, but Alex wasn't going to let go. Not now.

"Thanks, Simms. That means a lot."

Simms just shrugged. He opened the door to the warden's front office. "I've got Alex Mahone and Michael Scofield for the warden," he told the secretary.

"Go right in. The warden's waiting."

He opened the door and gestured them inside.

Lincoln was sitting in a chair across from the warden's desk. When they entered, he rose. "Hey." He frowned at the expression on Michael's face. "Mikey, it's okay. Nothing's wrong." He walked over and pulled his brother into a hug.

"He didn't sleep last night, and now he's moody because Simms was talking about the people pushing for him to be pardoned."

"I'm right here," Michael said. He pulled away from Lincoln and sat down.

"Why didn't you sleep?" asked Lincoln.

Michael shrugged. "Just couldn't."

"At all?"

"I fell asleep around four. It's no big deal."

"What time's wake up? Six? That's maybe two hours of sleep. You need to sleep, Mikey." Lincoln looked over at Alex. "You need to make sure he sleeps."

He gave Lincoln a thin smile. "Of course. I'll get right on that watching him twenty-four seven like he's a child."

"That's not what I mean."

"Guys, please." Michael rubbed his eyes. "I'm fine. Just one night."

"If you continue having sleeping problems, make sure you tell Dr. Parsons," the warden said.

"I will." He rubbed his eyes again. "So. What's going on?"

Lincoln picked a newspaper from the warden's desk and handed it Michael.

Alex leaned over Michael's shoulder.

Splashed across the Life and Times section was a picture of Michael and Alex.  
The headlined read "An Unexpected Love Affair." Underneath that was written, "Former FBI Agent and his Quarry Make a Match in Prison."

Two years ago, Michael Scofield made headlines by getting himself committed to Fox River Penitentiary. He subsequently broke his brother, himself, and six other men out of the prison. Alexander Mahone was the FBI agent put in charge of bringing him back. For the past seven months, these two former enemies have been locked away together at Dixon Correctional Facility. And here, despite their history and despite a brutal attack that nearly result in Scofield's death, these two men have found love in one another.

"Jesus Christ," Alex muttered.

The article was very detailed. It was like she'd been in the prison, watching them. The way they always sat close together. How Alex would reach out all the time and hook his finger around one of Michael's. The smiles. The touching. Everything.

Simms was quoted, although not named. Like he'd said, his quote mentioned that he thought they should be pardoned. It also said he thought they were two of the nicest guys he'd ever met and it'd been an honor and pleasure to watch their romance blossom.

Alex was going to have words with Simms later.

"It was on the news this morning, too," Lincoln said. "I got a call to go on some interviews. Talk shows. People are really into this story."

"It's positive, at least," Alex said. "I mean, the reporter seems to think it's a good thing."

Lincoln nodded. "Yeah. I mean, you've got the fundamentalists and stuff saying that this is sinful and everything, but a lot of people seem positive. The, uh, pardon group has jumped all over this. You know, if the FBI agent who was chasing you can get over it and fall in love, then you must be a really good guy." He smiled at his brother.

Michael stared at the desk, stone-faced.

"I received a call this morning from the writer of this article," the warden said. "She would like to do an interview."

"No," Michael said.

"It might help your cause," the warden said. "If you can get her to focus on the positive, and she already seems inclined, it might help you get your pardon or commutation sooner. If public opinion sways your way..."

Michael shook his head.

Alex and Lincoln exchanged looks.

"Mikey," Lincoln started, but Michael cut him off.

"I don't want to give an interview. It's my love life. Private. I don't want to talk about it with anyone, I don't want it fodder for the public." Michael set his jaw. Crossed his arms over his chest.

Alex ran his hand over his hair. "What if... what if we tell her we want to focus on the pardon effort? Focus on the riot? Get the message out that the two of us are rehabilitated and ready to move on with our lives on the outside. We'll limit questions about our private life to things that she already knows. I'll answer them." He put his hand on Michael's knee. "Michael. Publicity can be a good thing. We need to use it."

"I don't want to."

"Michael." He moved his chair closer and drew Michael into a hug.

After a moment of resistance, Michael moved. Lay his head on Alex's shoulder.

"Michael. It'd be a shame not to take the opportunity. To try."

"It won't do any good. It'll just... and homosexuality isn't exactly cheered and celebrated. Just because a reporter is positive, doesn't mean everyone else will be. It could really hurt any chance you have of getting a commutation."

His hand tightened on Michael's arm, but he let the comment be.

"Michael, I understand your reticence," the warden said. "But, as Alex said, publicity can be a good thing. And you don't need to convince the general public. It's the president who makes the final decision. And, currently, we have a liberal, gay-friendly president in office. It can't hurt."

Michael lifted his head. Rubbed his eyes looking weary. "I don't like having my private life set out there for public entertainment. It's bad enough that so much of it is. I mean, the goddamn movie on top of all the news stories..."

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to break your brother out of prison," Alex said, digging his fingers lightly into Michael's knee.

The look Michael gave him could peel paint. "I'd planned to be out of the country, drinking beer on a beach with my family, completely oblivious to the media hype. But someone screwed that up for me."

He laughed. "As if you would ever have resigned yourself to drinking beer on the beach. You would have been reading ever newspaper and watching ever report about the search."

"He's got you there, Mikey," Lincoln said. "We'd barely set one foot in Panama before you were ready to go back and turn yourself in."

"You're supposed to be on my side." Then, he frowned and said, "No, wait. You're both supposed to be on my side. Is it really so hard to understand that I just want my private life to be my private life? That it's bad enough everyone in my current world knows everything about my life, and I don't want the scrutiny of thousands of eyes using me for entertainment? Is it really such an unreasonable thing?"

Alex exchanged looks with Lincoln.

Lincoln shrugged, a grim expression on his face. Of course he wanted nothing but the best for his brother. He wanted Michael out of this place, and Lincoln, like Alex, was willing to do whatever it took. They'd use any angle, any advantage. The riot, their marriage. Anything that might buy the sympathy of the public and the president.

Michael, however, wasn't so ruthless. He still clung to--naively, and without real hope--the belief that, one day, they'd be able to have a completely private life. That everyone would forget about them and leave them alone.

And, maybe, one day, everyone would forget them. But not yet. Not as long as Michael was selling his art, and the network wanted to make a sequel to "Break Out." Or as long as people still looked at what Michael had done and were overwhelmed by the idea that someone would give up everything like that. Not as long as it remained fresh in their minds.

Alex wanted to do the interview. He wanted to do as many interviews as were requested, to keep them in the public eye. To use it, manipulate it. To get Michael out of this fucking place before he self-destructed.

Michael wouldn't agree. He was all to willing to fade away to protect something he considered too sacred for public consumption. And while he was right, their relationship was special, was sacred, was something that the masses couldn't understand...

It could still be used.

He would just have to make Michael see that.

Alex looked at the warden. "I guess we're not doing any interviews."

Michael gave him a sharp look. Turned to Lincoln. "No talk shows," he said. "Nothing."

Lincoln frowned. Looked at Alex.

He shook his head.

The frown deepened, but Lincoln slowly nodded. "Um. Okay, Michael. If you insist."

"I do."

"I think you're making a mistake, Michael," the warden said. "I think you should try to use the press to help you."

"I understand, sir. But I can't."

The warden shook his head, looking grim and disappointed. "Very well, if that's what you want."

Michael nodded. Then he rose. "Linc."

Lincoln stood as well and drew his brother into a hug. "Stay safe, Michael."

"I will." Michael held onto Lincoln tightly, almost like he didn't want to let go.

"We'll come visit this weekend." Lincoln quickly pressed his lips to Michael's temple, then pulled away. Clapped him on the shoulder.

Michael smiled at his brother, then turned and walked to the door.

Alex shook hands with Lincoln. "I'll take care of it," he said softly.

Lincoln nodded.

"How'd it go?" Simms asked as he led them back to protective seg.

Alex opened his mouth, but Michael cut him off by saying, "Fine. It was fine."

"Oh, and by the way," Alex said. "Thanks for all the choice quotes about Mike and my relationship. It's been a pleasure to see it blossom?"

Simm's cheeks colored. "I didn't know I was on the record. I thought it was just going to be about getting you guys out of here." He shrugged. "But, yeah. It has been. I expect to be invited to the wedding."

Alex rolled his eyes. "We'll see. We haven't solidified the guest list, yet."

"Where are you registered, anyway?" He punched in the code to the lock, then slid his security card.

"I saw your code," Michael said as he slipped past Simms. "You should probably change it."

"What?"

Michael was already halfway down the hall, but he turned and said, "I've already got it memorized. I'm sure you don't want any doors being unlocked or anything and it be traced back to you. And resetting it to your birthday? That's just stupid."

"You're an ass, Michael!"

Alex laughed and pushed past Simms. "Michael, wait up."

Michael picked up speed.

"Hey! Stop."

"No. I'm not talking to you," Michael said, turning and walking backwards. "Go find someone else to play with."

"What? Slow down."

"You are going to try to manipulate me into doing what you want. I'm really not in the mood to listen to you wheedle and cajole me into doing something I don't want to. So. Go away and leave me alone."

His stomach tightened. He slowed his pace, feet heavy. "Michael..."

Michael stopped. Rubbed his hands over his head. "Look, just... just give me time to think, okay? To process this. On my own, on my own time. I'll... I'll listen to what you have to say later. Okay? Just... not now."

"Am I really..." He exhaled. Closed his eyes. "Am I really that bad? Do I...."

"No." Michael was closer now. Voice soft, less wild. "No, you're not that bad. But, when you want something, you don't let it go. You always think you're right. And I'm just..." Soft fingers curled around Alex's. "Can't you understand? I've given up everything. My career, my life, my body. And everyone knows. They all know all the details. They all know I was a whore for my brother, willing--completely and without second thought--ready to sell everything for him. To save him. To get him out." He licked his lips, eyes skirting away. "You know what people say. What they think. A guy who looks like me in prison. What they assume happened to me. And they know I knew going in that being raped was a possibility. That I was willing to let that happen."

"Michael..."

He shook his head. "I love you. And I want everyone to know. I want to marry you and wear a ring that you put on me. I want to walk outside these walls holding your hand and live with you for the rest of my life. If they know, fine. I want them to." Eyes, bright and huge, met his. "But I can't use our relationship. I can't exploit the way I feel about you. I just can't. Please don't ask me to."

Heart aching, Alex moved. Framed Michael's face with both his hands. Kissed him. Backed him against the nearest wall and kissed him, thumbs stroking those soft spot behind his ears. "You're not a whore," Alex whispered against Michael's lips. "Never were. You're not."

Michael gripped Alex's wrists. Held on. "Then what do you call someone who sold themselves? Because that's the definition of a whore."

He kissed Michael's jaw. "Then you need a new dictionary." He kissed the tip of Michael's nose, then pulled away. "I'll leave you alone, if that's what you want. I'm sorry, Michael."

He shook his head. Threaded his fingers through Alex's and tightened his grip. "I think I'd rather... go back to the cell for a bit. See if I can get some sleep."

"Okay."

He licked his lips. "I sleep better when you're around."

Alex smiled. Leaned in and kissed Michael on the cheek. "All right." Kissed his mouth. "I love you."

"I love you too, Alex."


	53. Chapter 53

"Should I worry that you drew me committing suicide?" Travis asked, scratching his head with the eraser of his pencil.

Michael looked up from the math sheet he was correcting, startled.

Travis was gazing across the room where Michael's canvases were stacked against the wall. The biggest and most visible was the suicidal angel that Michael was redoing now that he had the right size canvas. It was about halfway complete, but Michael hadn't touched it in a few weeks. In fact, he had pretty much forgotten about it since the article about him and Alex had come out. A new piece had taken over his brain. One about violation and pain and being exposed. Another painful and hard to deal with piece.

But that wasn't the piece being discussed. The angel was.

"Um. No." He cleared his throat and shook his head. "No. Don't, uh. Don't be worried. It's not even really you." Which Travis would totally buy. "Here. You added again when you were supposed to subtract." He pushed a paper to Travis.

Travis took it, but stayed looking at the painting. "Looks like me. I mean, better looking, but it's still me. My face."

"That's what you look like."

"No it ain't. I don't look like that."

"Please. You know you're good looking."

Travis looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

Michael shifted uncomfortably. "What?"

"Nothing. I'm just thinking that if you think I'm good looking, and I say you are, maybe you, me, and Alex can work something out."

"Funny."

He grinned. "Well, it was worth a try. So. Why you got me killing myself, anyway?"

"I wasn't... it's nothing against you. Yes, it's your face, but I wasn't trying to say anything with it. I just... a friend of my nephew's committed suicide and he was broken up about it. He came to me, you came back the same day and that picture was born. I swear I'm not saying anything by it. No, Travis, subtract." He put his hand on Travis's wrist, stopping him. "Take away. The number should get smaller."

Travis grunted in frustration and began erasing. "I told you I'm a moron. I'm stupid. I can't believe..."

"It's fine, Travis. You're just not paying attention."

"That's not it!" Travis threw down his pencil. "I'm stupid. There's no point in trying to learn." He pushed back from the table and covered his face with his hands.

Michael sighed. It'd been like this for nearly three days. They'd work together and Travis would start to catch on. Then, almost without warning, he'd just start making all kinds of mistakes. Adding instead of subtracting or not being able to tell which was the bigger number. He didn't know his multiplication facts, which was fine, except no matter what Michael did, he couldn't get Travis to remember them. Not even his threes. And Michael had taught him that Schoolhouse Rock song.

"Travis. What do you want to do when you get out of here?"

"I'll be lucky if I can get a job at McDonalds. I can't even count money."

"That's not what I asked. Don't... don't worry about limitations or reality or anything. Just, tell me. If you could be anything, what would you be?"

"It doesn't matter." Travis let his head drop to the table with a loud bang. Then he lay there, limp, not moving.

Michael sighed. Rested his cheek on his hand. "You know, I asked Ricky Esposito the same thing. He told me he wanted to be an astronaut. Doesn't matter that it's never going to happen. He still had a dream."

"Well la-de-frickin-da for him."

"You must want something out of life, Travis. You're getting out of here in less than eight months. You're taking college classes. Why? What do you want?"

"What are you, some kind of career counselor, Blueprints?" He rolled his head to the side, pressed his cheek against the table. "Maybe I could be a model. I mean, I look good in that."

"You do. It's a possibility, I guess. You have the looks and you're young. But it's not exactly a solid career. And you're smarter than that."

Travis snorted.

"You are. Modeling is good as a side job. But you need to have a back-up."

Travis sighed. "What does it mean?"

"What does what mean?" he asked, thinking Travis was talking about the math.

"The picture. Why's an angel slitting his wrists?"

Oh. "I don't know. I guess. I guess it's about someone who just doesn't see what life could hold. Who's been driven to the edge. To despair. Who is ready to give up everything."

"But it's an angel."

"You don't think angels feel despair?" He smiled crookedly. "They're the ones... passed over, right? God loves humans better and angels have to watch us mess everything up for ourselves. With our freedom and free will, while they have to do whatever God says. If it were me, watching over the world, never dying, eon after eon, I'm sure I'd feel despair." He looked over at Travis. "Besides. It's a metaphor."

Travis licked his bottom lip. Ran his teeth over it. "Like.... He's got everything to live for and he'd ready to give it all up?"

"Something like that."

"Except, I'm in prison. When I get out of here, I'm just some stupid con who can't add or multiply. I don't got nothing to live for."

"You don't have anything to live for," Michael corrected absently. "And, yes, you do. You're not stupid, Travis. In fact, you're quite intelligent."

He snorted.

"You can read and you do read. You're reading, what? The Count of Monte Cristo right now?"

"Yeah?"

"That's not an easy book to read. But you've been working through it steadily and seem to understand it."

"It's good," Travis said dismissively.

Michael sighed. He was tired and Travis was prickly. Michael was only tutoring him because Alex had confessed he didn't have the patience to do it. Plus, it gave Michael something to do, relieving the boredom somewhat. But if Travis wasn't going to cooperate, then what was the point?

"I'm just saying, that if you were stupid, you wouldn't be reading that book. You probably wouldn't even be reading. But you are and you understand it and you're even enjoying it. So, intelligence isn't your problems. Math is."

"So. What? I'm half retarded?"

"Exactly. Only half. And because you have ten fingers and ten toes, you've conquered half that battle. Now, sit up and lets subtract."

Travis groaned and lifted his head from the table as if it weighed a ton. "Subtract. So the number gets smaller."

"Exactly. Seventy-five minus fifty-eight. What do you do first?"

"Eight take-away five?"

He tried not to scream. "No. The five is on top."

"But it's smaller, right?"

"Right."

Travis sighed. "Um. Twelve?"

"No. You have to borrow, remember?"

"Right." He picked up his pencil again and slowly, in childlike script, began his calculations. After borrowing, he set down the pencil and started counting, but was obviously stumped as to how to proceed.

"Start from eight and count up to fifteen."

"I thought I was taking away."

"You are, but..."

"Scofield," Kester said, sticking his head in the room. "Warden wants to see you."

He frowned. "Why?"

"I think he wants to have a tea party. How the fuck should I know?"

Michael nodded. "Um. Travis, O'Connell can help you with the rest of the problems. It's all just adding and subtraction."

"Okay. I'll tell Alex where you are when he gets back from his class."

"Thanks." He pushed back from the table and followed the guard.

"Where's your boyfriend?" Kester asked as he led Michael through protective segregation to the warden.

"Anger management."

Kester nodded. "It's working. Most of the time, classes like that are a waste of time. I guess it helps some men, but mostly things like that? It's all bullshit. Man's angry coming in and needs to stay angry to survive. But Alex isn't angry like he used to be." He stopped at the heavy door that led out of protective seg. As he undid the lock, he glanced at Michael and smiled. "Of course, maybe the class don't have as much to do with him not being angry anymore as you."

He felt his cheeks warm. "Anger management works if you want it to work. He just wanted it, that's all."

"He wanted it because you gave him something to want. When Travis was his cellie, Alex looked for reasons to fight. You? He makes nice with everyone."

"Well. He'd already been here for four months. That's four months of classes."

"That's powerful motivation." He took Michael by the arm and led him into the front office.

"The warden's waiting for you," the secretary said. She beamed at Michael. "Congratulations."

Michael started at her. His stomach bottomed out. "I. What?"

The door opened and the warden stepped out. "Michael! Come in, please. Thanks, Kester. I've got him now." He came out and took Michael by the arm. Pulled him inside.

Dr. Parsons was there. Leaning against the warden's desk and rubbing his hands on his pants. When Michael came in, he offered something that looked like a smile. But it was a pitying smile, a tentative one. The kind you got with news that wasn't good, but it wasn't bad, either. The disease wasn't fatal, but it's going to hurt a whole lot kind of news.

"Hey, Michael," he said.

His stomach hurt. His head was tight. "What's going on?" he asked.

The warden put his hand on Michael's shoulder. Squeezed. "Do you drink Scotch?"

He glanced at Dr. Parsons.

"Just one shouldn't hurt," the doctor said.

The warden went to the cabinet behind his desk. He unlocked a drawer and pulled out a bottle of Scotch and four tumblers. "We're just waiting for Alex," he said as he poured. "I sent Simms to get him from class."

The intercom buzzed. "Warden. Alex Mahone is here," the secretary said

"Send him in." He handed Michael a glass as the door opened. "Alex. Just in time. Here."

Alex crossed the room to Michael. There was a puzzled expression on his face, but he accepted the glass without comment. "What's going on?" he asked, slipping his free hand into Michael's.

"I've some good news," the warden said. "You've been pardoned, Michael."

Alex's hand tightened in his. And then he turned. Pulled Michael into his arm and clung. holding tightly. Whispered into his neck and kissed his jaw and neck.

He couldn't feel anything. Nothing. It was like he'd left his body and was observing everything around him.

"When does he get to leave?" Alex asked, pulling away. He downed his Scotch in one gulp, then set the empty glass on the desk.

"Well, there's paperwork to be filled out, but we should be able to get him out today. I wanted to tell you before we told your family, Michael. We should do that soon. It should be hitting the news fairly soon. In light of the protests and demonstrations and petitions, not to mention the visibility of the case to beginning with, the president is going to make a statement."

"You're going home tonight. Thank God." Alex leaned in to kiss Michael.

He pulled away. "What about Alex?" Although he didn't need to ask. Because they would have said something. Would have told them otherwise. Said and they weren't and...

"Alex's commutation hasn't come through yet. I'm sure it's just a matter of time, but..."

"We filed the paperwork together," Michael interrupted. "Why would... why would mine get through first? It doesn't make any sense. Why... why... why..."

"Michael, calm down and breathe," Dr. Parsons said. He took the Scotch from Michael's numb fingers. Led him to a chair and sat him down. "You need to breathe."

He couldn't catch his breath, though. His lungs were crushing in. The world spun. He couldn't...

"Michael," Alex murmured, kneeling at his side. "Don't do this. Please."

"It's not fair," he panted.

"The president has been under pressure about you," the warden said. "The article about you and Alex only served to remind people that you being here is an injustice. What happened to your family was a perversion of justice. Everyone's worse nightmare. Big business and corrupt government officials using citizens for their dirty work. Ruining their lives, taking it away all to put someone in the White House."

"But Alex..."

"Alex will get his commutation. He just has to be patient. You have to be patient."

He shook his head. "I can't."

"It's going to happen," Alex whispered. "But look at the good side, Michael. You're out of here. You're free."

"I don't have to take it. I can refuse." He looked up, still fighting for breath. "I can do that, right?"

The warden looked grim. "Michael..."

"I robbed the bank. I set T-Bag free. It's my fault and I shouldn't... Not if Alex has to stay. It's not fair. I can't..."

"Michael. Breathe." Dr. Parsons had him by the wrist, was checking his pulse. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. Slowly.

He closed his eyes. Focused on his breath.

"I know you'd hoped for you and Alex to be able to leave together," the warden said, voice soft. "But that's not how it turned out, unfortunately. I must admit, I'm surprised that Alex's paperwork wasn't expedited because of yours. On the other hand, it is a bureaucracy. They may not know where it is exactly. I will be following up on it, pushing Alex's case as best I can. But you cannot turn down this pardon, Michael."

He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could. Tried to block out the world, ignore what was happening.

Never, in his wild imaginings, had he thought he'd want to stay here. But, he'd never thought he'd have to leave the one thing that made his life worth living.

"Warden. May I speak with Michael alone?"

"Of course. Dr. Parsons and I will be outside if you need us."

"Thank you."

He waited until the door was closed. Then, Alex pulled him out of the chair and into his arms. Together, they knelt on the floor, Alex holding him so tightly, Michael's ribs ached. "You're going to take it." He stroked Michael's back. "You're going to leave this place and you are going to start living again. And, sooner or later, my paperwork is going to cross the president's desk and he'll sign it and I'll be out. But you are leaving this fucking place. Do you understand? You are taking the pardon and going home."

"You're home." He looked up at Alex. Blinked back the panicked tears that'd flooded his eyes. Dug his fingers into his shirt. "I can't... I don't want to leave you. I can't."

Alex kissed him. His hand cradled Michael's cheek, mouth moved gently. "I will miss you so much, Michael. But you'll visit and we'll talk on the phone. We'll get through it." He kissed Michael again. "I just want you safe. I want you out."

"But..."

"It's time for you to leave, Michael. You've been hurt and broken and screwed around so much in here. And you've made so much progress. Grown so much since... since the attack. But you're clinging to me, Michael. It's easy here. We're in each other's space twenty-four seven and it's easy to cling." Alex licked his lips. Ran his thumbs over Michael's cheeks. Down his jaw. "You need to go. And you need to rediscover yourself outside these walls." He looked down, then back up. "It's time for you to start living your life again, Michael."

"What about you?"

His lips quirked. "I can wait a few more weeks. Months, whatever. But this timing. It's good for you. You need to go."

Michael could feel his face crumble. His lower lip trembled in time to the breaking of his heart. "I need you."

"No." Alex shook his head. "You don't need me. You think you do because I'm here. But you'll be better than fine on the outside."

He wasn't so sure. The idea of the world, of all those people, of everything... It was overwhelming. It was boring here, mind numbing. But it was safe. Alex made it safe.

But he didn't have a choice.

"I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too." Alex cradled Michael's face. Kissed him. "You know I love you. More than anything. More than anyone, I love you."

"I love you, too." He wrapped his arms around Alex. Held tight. "Do you think.... Do you think the warden would let me leave tomorrow? Just so I had time to... you know." His cheeks warmed. "Say good-bye."

He felt Alex smile. Warm lips pressed against his temple. "Well. It couldn't hurt to ask."

Michael tightened his arms around Alex. Held him. "In a few minutes. Right now, just... just hold me."

"Always," Alex sighed, holding Michael tight. "Always."


	54. Chapter 54

It was definitely a festive atmosphere in protective segregation. Even Michael, who had looked as if someone kicked his puppy since he'd been told the good news, had lightened up. The warden had said he could stay until tomorrow--paperwork wouldn't be as rushed, and they'd have time to pack Michael's artwork safely--and, in the spirit of celebration, they could have a party. Pizza and soda, ice cream and movies, popcorn and chocolate. One of the guards ran out and bought streamers and balloons and those paper horns. They'd even gotten plastic toys and party favors.

It was fun. All of them, together, talking and chatting. With the exception of a few hold-outs, everyone was happy for Michael. Glad he was getting out, glad to see good things happen to him.

Alex was getting a few looks, a few pitying pats on his back. But, for the most part, everyone was just keeping with the festive atmosphere. There'd be time for pity tomorrow, when Michael was gone.

Christ.

He was leaving. Tomorrow morning, he'd walk out of the prison and go home. And Alex would be left here, alone.

At least he was in protective segregation. Things were calmer here, more laid back. More open than it'd been in Gen Pop. And he had his friends. Things to do.

It wouldn't be forever.

He sighed to himself, masking it by lifting his soda to his mouth and taking a drink.

Someone jostled his shoulder. "You okay?"

He glanced over at Randall, who'd taken the seat next to him. "Yeah," he said. "I'm fine."

Randall looked across the room. Michael had been cajoled into doing caricatures of the other inmates and autographing them. It was an investment, someone had said; starting up, money since when anyone else got out, Michael's artwork would be worth millions.

"It's going to be strange with him gone. I've gotten used to seeing the two of you joined at the hip."

He laughed, but his heart wasn't in it. This wasn't what he wanted to be talking about right now. Or thinking about. This, Michael leaving, being alone again, that could wait. Right now, he just wanted to be happy.

"What do you think is going to happen once he's out there?"

"I don't know. I hope that, after he adjusts to being on the outside, he finds something that makes him happy. Maybe rent a studio space, or go back to being an engineer. Hell, he doesn't even have to work. The government gave Lincoln all kinds of money, I'm sure he'd let Michael live off that."

"You think any of those reporters are going to bother him?"

He shrugged. "At first, probably. But they'll lose interest."

Randall nodded. Spun his empty cup on the table. "Probably. Bet they make another movie, though. It's a good story, you and him. Whole thing, from the breakout to now, plays like a movie." He rubbed his chin. "Of course, it'd be better if you were getting out the same time, too. Though, if you stay together, guess it won't matter much."

"If we stay together?"

"Yeah, you know. I'm not saying you guys don't really love each other. I mean, what you have isn't just some prison-thing. It's real. But, you know. He'll be out there. And we don't know how long you'll be here."

He sighed. Rubbed his forehead, where the headache was pressing. "Could we not discuss this right now? Because I can beat you at the reasons-why-Michael-should-leave-me-the-minute-he-steps-out-of-prison game hands down, but I want to focus on the positive right now."

"Sorry. I'm don't mean to be a dick." Clapped his hand on Alex's shoulder. "Nothing's going to happen. Kid would rather die than leave you."

"That's kind of what I'm afraid of." He sighed again. "He gets dependent. Clings to things when he should give up on them."

"So now he should give up on you?"

Alex shrugged. "I'm in here. I'm twenty years older than him. I've got a son and an ex and baggage and.... Maybe it'd be better..."

"Ah, shit," Randall grumbled. "This is what it's gonna be like from now on, huh? Until you get sprung, you're gonna sit here, day after day, listing all the reasons Michael shouldn't be with you."

"No. And you're the one who brought it up."

"Because I'm going to miss him and I'm being sappy. I like the two of you here, together. It almost makes it like being on the outside, what with you being in love and able to show it. It's never like that in here. I've been in and out of the joint for my whole life, never once made it into protective seg. It's different here. People aren't as scared, and with you two, it's almost normal." He frowned. Looked across the room at Michael. The frown deepened. "Michael's one of them special people. He's just... good. Makes you feel good just by being. I'm gonna miss him."

He snorted softly, mostly to himself. Put his hand on Randall's shoulder and squeezed. "I know. He's a good guy."

"Yeah but you're going to see him again. He'll visit and you'll get your commutation and go home. He'll be there and you'll see him. Me?" Randall shook his head. "I've made friends in the joint. Always say I'll keep in touch with them when we get out, but it never happens. And Michael..." His voice caught and he stopped talking.

Alex didn't say anything. Couldn't say anything. He'd never really thought about that. Never thought about what would happen to the friends he made in here. Randall and O'Connell. They had nothing in common, other than their age and their shared experience. When they got out, what would they have? Would anything hold them together?

He knew he'd make the effort. Would come to visit them on occasion. Meet them for a beer when they were out. Like his army buddies, way back when they were all still in touch. Every few months, they'd have a gathering, sit around and recount their experiences. Catch up. Alex would do the same with Randall and O'Connell.

But Michael?

Michael would leave and bury himself in whatever life he constructed for himself. He'd try to forget prison and his experiences and the people he met. Not because he didn't care for the people he'd connected with here, but because he would have to. Because he wouldn't be able to focus on both his new life and his old, not without becoming completely overwhelmed. Not by himself.

Alex sighed. Tightened his hand on Randall's shoulder. "Look. I'll... You put Michael on your visitor list. When he comes to visit me, you can come up and catch up with him, too. Not all the time, not for the whole time, but that way we won't lose touch. And if I get out.... We'll keep in touch."

Randall blinked rapidly. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. When he spoke, his voice was gruff. "O'Connell and I are getting out around the same time. Both got in here the same time. We just sort of... clicked. Knew we could trust each other, watch out for one another." He cleared his throat again. "We've talked about getting a place together when we get out. Two bedrooms," he clarified quickly.

"Of course."

"Anyway. We figure that we can keep looking out for each other out there. Stop each other from doing something stupid."

"That's a good idea. When you getting out?"

"Two more years."

Oh. After the wedding, then. Although, it was possible Randall and O'Connell would still be able to come. If Alex wasn't out by then, it'd have to be here.

And there was another worry. He and Michael were supposed to get married on December 24. What if he was still in here? Was if fair to Michael to tie him down like that?

There was a sudden tapping. Alex looked up to see O'Connell standing at the other end of the table. He was hitting a spork against his cup.

"Attention everyone. I've got something to say."

The room quieted down as everyone turned their eyes to O'Connell. Michael put down his marker and put his hands on his knees, head ducked, like he knew what was coming.

"Okay, so. A pardon party isn't a pardon party without speeches, right? Usually it's just a bunch of us griping about how much of an asshole the guy who gets pardoned is, but, then, usually that asshole is already gone and we're stuck in our cells wondering how the asshole managed to con the president into thinking he was innocent. But most cons aren't like Michael and I think I can honestly say everyone in here is happy to see justice done. And, if you aren't, then get out of here and stop hogging the pizza."

Everyone laughed. Travis picked up another piece of pizza and bit into it gustily, rolling his eyes as he did. Then he winked at Michael and gave him a cheese-filled grin.

"Anyway. First time I saw Michael, he was tagging along after FBI. His nose was all red and running, and his eyes were swollen and I knew he looked familiar, but couldn't quite place him 'cause of the cold. But I figured he was Alex's cellie, because he was so close, and I was wondering what god Alex had pissed off to make him keep getting all the pretty cellies. No offence, Mikey, Travis. But you two are gorgeous, and being gorgeous in prison ain't exactly what you want to be. And Alex, well. You know him. Protect the innocent, even in here. Anyway, so I was wondering who Alex pissed off when I saw Michael look at him." O'Connell grinned. "You were looking at Alex like he'd just invented chocolate or something. And I was worried about him, for him, until he turned around and attacked McNab. Cause while it wasn't nothing I hadn't seen him do a dozen times for Travis, the way he did it.... You could just tell, you know? Anyway. I got to know Michael and he's a great guy. You are a great guy, Michael. You deserve the best out of life and I'm really happy for you. So. Cheers."

"Cheers!" the room chorused enthusiastically. Cups were clinked, soda was downed.

Michael stood and crossed the room to O'Connell. "Thanks," he said softly.

O'Connell drew him into a fierce hug. "You take care out there, Mikey. Don't let 'em eat you alive. And you do something good."

"I will. I promise." He clung to O'Connell until he was released. Then, with a half-smile, he crossed the room and sat next to Alex. "Hey."

"Hey." He took Michael's hand and squeezed.

"Okay, my turn," Simms said. He picked up a cup of soda. "And, yes, I'm a guard and not exactly the most favorite guy here. But I owe Michael more than any man in this room, so if you have problems with me talking, you can leave."

No one went anywhere.

Simms smiled. "All right. So, when Michael first got here, I just thought he was some jerk who'd made the guards at Fox River look like fools. He broke the law, then broke the law again. So, he wasn't my favorite person. But, you know, Michael, you're incredibly sweet. And polite. And just a good guy. So you started to win me over just by being you. Then riot happened. You shouldn't have done what you did. You risked your life for mine, and that's dangerous. I mean, if I was another con, it would have been one thing. But I'm a guard. Public enemy number one in here. But that didn't matter to you. You got me out of the riot. Stopped the bleeding. Saved my life. I won't ever forget that, Michael. Not as long as I live. So. I wish you a long and happy life as a free man. You deserve it." He raised his glass to Michael.

Everyone followed.

"Thanks, Simms." Michael stood and crossed the room to him. Gave Simms a hug.

"I'm happy for you, Michael. And I'm thrilled I don't have to dress up like a nun for Halloween."

Michael laughed. "Too bad. I was looking forward to it."

Simms pushed Michael away, laughing. "Smartass."

"Police brutality."

"Not a policeman."

"Semantics." He pat Simms on the arm, then went back to Alex. "I want to go back to the cell," he said softly through clenched teeth, a fake smile plastered on his face.

Alex smiled. Put his arm around Michael and pulled him close. "But your party isn't over."

Michael sighed.

"Just a bit longer," he promised. "Then we'll go."

A bit turned into four more hours. Simms had brought Break Out and most of the cons wanted to rewatch the entire thing. With commentary and questions for the subjects. Michael spent so much of the movie talking and answering questions, his voice began to sound hoarse. But he answered them all with good humor, from how long it took to design the tattoo to how it'd felt to get shot up with insulin every day to how, exactly, did he feel when he saw Alex in the elevator.

"Afraid he was going to figure out the gun was plastic," Michael replied. Then he glanced at Alex and blushed. "And... I kept thinking how he had the most amazing eyes I'd ever seen."

There were hoots and catcalls at that. Then everyone quieted down, for which Alex was thankful. He'd never gotten to see the whole thing, since the guys had embarrassed Michael during the last viewing. He was interested to see how things turned out.

Michael was slumped against his side, head resting on his shoulder when the final scene rolled around. His breathing had evened out, and Alex thought he was asleep, but as Jensen Ackles knocked on the door onscreen, Michael's breathing changed and his hand tightened in Alex's.

Vincent opened the door. It was frightening how similar his facial expressions and movements were to Alex's own. Except for the fact Vincent was a few pounds heavier and a rounder face, it was almost like looking in a mirror.

"Michael," the actor said.

'Michael' licked his lips and tugged on his fingers. Even though Jensen and Michael had never gotten a chance to meet, the kid had managed to pick up some of Michael's tics and incorporate them into his performance. He was good.

"Alex. May I come in?"

'Alex' hesitated, then stepped back, allowing 'Michael' into his hotel room. The door was shut and locked behind.

"What are you doing here? You shouldn't... you shouldn't be here." 'Alex' was flexing his fingers, head ticking to one side. He crossed the room to the nightstand where his gun was. His hand hovered over it before he picked it up. Turned. Aimed at Michael.

'Michael' didn't even blink. "This has to end," he said evenly. "It can't continue."

"Ending things is exactly what I intend to do." He took a couple steps forward. "It's not personal."

"You just want your life back," 'Michael' said, voice slightly mocking.

"Yes." It was a tortured whisper. His entire arm shook.

"So. You shoot me. You find my brother and shoot him. Then what do you think is going to happen? You're going to call Pam? She's going to come down here with your little boy and, what? Live here? Happily every after in some foreign country?"

A look of pain crossed 'Alex's' face.

"You think you can go back there? Back home and live in the United States with her? That the Company will make everything right?"

"They promised. Everything goes away. I get my life back."

'Michael' took a step forward. "And the next time they need someone to do their dirty work, it's not just one body you have to hide. And what about the time after that? And the time after that?"

"No."

"It's never going to end, Alex. It's never..."

He closed his eyes. His hand tightened on the gun. "Get on your knees, Michael."

He took another step forward. Now he was so close, the gun pressed against his chest. "My brother's been exonerated. Kellerman, remember him? He rolled over on the Company. The company's coming down, all of it. It's over, Alex. There's no one to bury anything."

'Alex' opened his eyes. There was a film of tears over them. "You have a boat. The money."

'Michael' shook his head. "It's over. I'm going back. I'm turning myself in." He wrapped his hand around the gun. Gently extracted it from Alex's grasp and tossed it onto the bed. "I'm turning myself in. And when we get back to the States, so are you."

"No."

"It's over, Alex. It's over." He wrapped his hand around Alex's hand and stepped even closer. "This is the only way to get your life back."

'Alex' squeezed his eyes shut. Shook his head. "I can't."

"You're a good man, Alex. Please. Do what's right."

His jaw tightened. His hand, in Michael's, squeezed.

And then... Then he let out a breath. Opened his eyes. Nodded.

And, just like he had in real life, 'Michael' gave him a brilliant smile that made him, for the first time in weeks, feel human once again.

It was so quite in the rec room, you could hear a pin drop. Music played on the screen over 'Michael' and 'Alex' getting off the plane in the States. Of them looking at each other as they were both cuffed. Of 'Lincoln' and 'LJ' standing at the end of the tarmac, watching as Michael was herded into a car.

'Michael' smiled at his brother. Nodded once. The credits began to roll as the car drove away.

There was a collective exhale of held breath. The noise of fabric on fabric, coughs, cleared throats.

Travis broke the silence. "Is that how it really went down? I mean, in the hotel room?"

Michael and Alex exchanged looks.

"Yeah," Alex replied. "Pretty much."

"Wow, Michael. You must have balls of steel. I totally thought he was going to shoot you."

Michael rolled his eyes. "I knew he wouldn't. He'd had his chance before, and he couldn't. It was over by then." He leaned in and kissed Alex on his jaw.

A tone sounded.

"Okay, cons," Simms said, flicking the lights on. "Party's over. Go line up for count."

"Your last count," Alex said, rising. He had Michael's hand in his and he squeezed.

Michael gave him a watery smile. "Our last night together. Here, I mean."

His throat closed. He couldn't say anything, so he simply squeezed Michael's hand again.

They got through count. Stepped into their cell. The bars closed with the usual resounding clang and the lights went out.

Michael stepped to the bars and dropped the sheet. When he turned, there were tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he gasped. His face crumpled as he crossed the room and put his arms around Alex. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Alex asked, bewildered. He held on to Michael's trembling body tightly, stroking his back.

"I know you're happy for me. You glad that I'm out of here, but I can't... I'm going to miss you so much. The thought of leaving you just takes away any happiness I have."

"Shhh," Alex soothed. He kissed Michael's cheek. Still holding tightly, he backed up to their bunk and lowered themselves into it. "It's okay."

"No. It's not. Because you're so happy for me. And you want me to be happy. But I feel like there's a huge hole in me. It hurts, Alex. Physically. I can't breathe and it just hurts, the thought of leaving you. And you don't care at all."

"Michael, I'm trying to be strong for you." He gently extracted himself from Michael's iron embrace. Held him at arm's length. "I'm devastated that you're leaving. Not because I'm not happy, but now... all these concerns have cropped up. I will miss you so much. You gave my life in here meaning. Purpose. Joy. I've been so happy with my life since you came. And you're leaving and I'm scared. Scared that life will go back to being boring and monotonous and... and that it will get too hard."

"Alex." He moved back into Alex's embrace. Held him. "I was afraid you wouldn't miss me."

"Are you kidding?"

"You've been so happy all day. You told me I needed to leave."

"You do need to leave. But just because I believe you need to get out of here doesn't mean it won't tear me apart when you go."

Michael's chin trembled and more tears flooded from his eyes. "I love you."

Alex nodded, his throat catching again. "Me too." He smoothed the tears on Michael's cheeks.

"Don't even think about breaking-up with me for my own good. If I come here one day to find I'm not on your visitor's list, I will go out and rob a bank, get myself thrown back in here, and kick your ass."

He laughed. Kissed Michael's temple. "Okay. I won't."

"You were thinking about it."

"I've been thinking about a lot of things." He took Michael's hand and threaded their fingers together. Rested his head on top of Michael's. "What if I'm not out of here by Christmas?"

"Then we get married on the twenty-fourth, just like we planned."

He sighed. Tightened his fingers in Michael's. "You do realize that there's a possibility... the possibility that my commutation won't happen. That it'll be denied and I'll stay in here for the rest of my sentence."

Michael let out a shaky breath. "Yeah. I know that."

"And you know that, if that happens, we won't be able to be together, alone, for another ten years. Unless Illinois changes the law, and even then, they generally don't allow conjugal visits to people who weren't married when the inmate was committed."

"I know."

Alex pulled away. Moved so his back was pressed against the wall. "I'm fifty-one, Michael. You're thirty-one. You'll only be in your forties when I get out of here, and I'm going to be an old man. If that happened together, if we grew older together, that'd be one thing. But to be apart for that long. To not have sex for ten years and then for it to be..." He shook his head. Shrugged. "I just want you to think about it."

"There's nothing to think about."

"Michael..."

"Alex..." He crawled across the blanket and climbed onto Alex's lap. "I told you before, I can do math. I know how old you'll be. And it won't matter."

He reached up and framed Michael's face with his hands. "I just don't think I could bear getting out, going to you, only to find that you're not attracted to me anymore."

Michael smiled. "That is never going to happen." He leaned down and kissed Alex.

Alex melted. And gave up his argument. He didn't want to think about it anyway, think about the possibility of the future without Michael. Of all the reasons they shouldn't be together, he didn't want to think about it. This was their last night together for God knew how long. Now wasn't the time for these kind of thoughts.

So he kissed Michael with all that he had. Tugged at his shirt, pulling it over Michael's head. Ran his hands and lips over Michael's neck. His shoulders and arms. Pushed him back onto the bed and hovered above him.

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" he whispered. He brought his knuckles up to Michael's face. Lightly, barely touching, he ran them down Michael's cheek. His jaw. His lips. Pressed fingers into his chin. Down his neck..

Michael let out a sigh. He closed his eyes, arched his neck.

"I will miss you," Alex said. He kissed Michael's parted mouth. Ran a trail down his neck to his collarbone. "I will miss you so, so much."

"Alex." Michael's hands moved restlessly over Alex's body. When he tried to sit up, Alex pushed him back down.

"Just... let me. Please?"

"Yeah." He ran his fingers through Alex's hair and just held.

Alex continued his exploration. He kissed and licked and touched every bit of Michael's body as if it were the first time. The dip where his collarbone came together. Both his nipples. Each of his fingers and the palm of his hand. The inside of his wrist. His navel. The arches on his pecs. The hilt of the sword. The body of the demon and the angel. The curve of the wings and down to the juncture of his thighs.

Sweat slicked Michael's skin by the time Alex got to his right thigh. He licked and nibbled at the salty skin. Lapped at drops as they rolled down heat-flushed flesh.

"Aren't you going to touch me?" Michael panted when Alex bypassed the cock that lay, hard and red, against Michael's stomach.

He kissed Michael's kneecap. "I thought that's what I was doing."

"Bastard." He wrapped his legs around Alex. Trapping him. "Do you think... Do you think we could try..." He trailed off, propping himself on his elbows and looking down at Alex. His eyes were large in the dim light. Beautiful.

"I don't want to push you."

"I know. And I don't know if I'm really ready. But I want to try. I have to try before... Just in case."

Alex wiggled in the vise of Michael's legs. Moved up his body and kissed him. Hard. Deep and probing. "You are the bravest man I've ever met, Michael Scofield."

"It's just sex." But his voice wavered.

He kissed Michael again. As he did, he reached into the slit of the mattress and pulled out the tube of lubricant. "In all my life, I never thought I'd be here," he whispered as he spread lube on his fingers. "Never thought that I'd fall in love with another man. Never thought I'd get engaged to him in a prison. Never thought he'd be so beautiful or so brilliant that he'd make my heart ache every time I looked at him. I never thought I could love someone like this." He traced his fingers over Michael's buttocks, gently. Lightly.

Michael's eyes were squeezed tightly. "But, uh. But what about... what about Pam?"

"Do me a favor. Don't tell her, okay?" He covered Michael's lips with his own, kissed him, tongue stroking against Michael's. Carefully, he eased his fingers between Michael's cheeks. Stroked the puckered opening.

Michael broke away. Panted a couple times, then bit his lip.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No."

He hesitated, then decided to take Michael at his word. He pressed one finger into Michael. Entered him.

Michael's entire body tightened.

"Michael...."

"I want to feel you in me," he gasped. "I do. Before I go, I want this so badly."

"Then just relax."

He nodded, but his face was twisted into a grimace. If possible, his muscles seemed to tense even further, and he clenched harder around Alex's finger.

"Michael..."

"I know," he said in a strangled voice. His teeth were pressed tight together and he was breathing in short, panicked gasps.

This wasn't working. Michael was just working himself into a panic, and that's not how Alex wasn't to spend their last night together. He just wanted things to be... happy.

Of course, if he tried to stop this, Michael would just pout and beat up on himself for the rest of the night. And that was not something Alex wanted either.

Frustrated, he rested his head on Michael's belly. Dropped soft kisses over his skin, soothing gently.

Michael let out a shaky breath. "I'm sorry," he said, sob in his voice.

Alex didn't answer. He continued kissing, mapping the tattoo with his mouth, with no real agenda. Just tasting and feeling.

Then, lighting-bolt like, inspiration hit.

He pulled his finger from Michael's body. Sat up. "Roll over," he said, tugging at Michael's hips.

Michael opened his eyes. "What..."

"Trust me."

He nodded and rolled onto his stomach. Arms crossed, he rested his head on them, gazing into the darkness. "I'm sorry I'm so much trouble."

"You're not trouble at all," Alex said, pulling off his clothes and tossing them to the floor.

"Liar."

He climbed onto Michael, straddling his legs. "Trouble is frustration one doesn't want. With you, I want everything." He ran his hands up Michael's spine. Kneaded at the tight muscles that had bunched at his shoulders. "For better or for worse, right?" Alex leaned over and began placing kisses, dropping them randomly, scattered over his back.

Michael sighed. Stretched, catlike. "We going with traditional vows, then?"

"Well, we are such a traditional couple." He scooted down. Kissed the small of Michael's back. Licked along the base of his spine. "You're too thin."

"So everyone tells me. Just think, after breakfast tomorrow, no more cottage cheese and Ensure."

"Jerk." He sank his teeth in the soft, fleshy curve of Michael's left buttock.

He pressed his mouth against his hand and gave a muffled moan.

"Okay?" Small, tiny, miniscule kisses trailed from Michael's left buttock to his right. Another bite.

Another soft moan.

He trailed back. Found the soft dip at the top of Michael's cleft. Licked.

"Oh," Michael exhaled. His back arched again, head coming up.

Alex licked again, longer this time. Teased the tip of his tongue over that sensitive cleft. Drew another moan. A squirm.

He eased his thumbs between the cheeks. Lightly pressed the tips against Michael's opening. Spread his cheeks apart and lowered his face. Lightly, and a little nervously, he licked along Michael's opening.

Michael's back stiffened. He let out three loud pants, then bit his arm.

"Don't, babe." Alex reached up and pulled his hand away. "Just... Not yourself." Then he lowered his face again. Licked.

"Oh, God," Michael moaned before slamming his face into his pillow. His hips lifted off the bed.

Alex grabbed Michael's hips. Pushed him back down with one hand. Resumed his task. He licked and teased at Michael's hole, wetting it. Opening him. With the tip of his tongue, he thrust inside. Was welcomed. Met none of the previous resistance, was, in fact, drawn in. Encouraged.

And Michael? He couldn't stop moving. His hips writhed on the bed. He dragged his cock over the rough bedspread, humped it. Enthusiastically pushed himself into Alex's face. His fingers dug into the mattress. His toes braced against it as he pushed back. Back arched, then humped as he moved.

He was vocal, too. Whimpers and moans. Gasps and encouragements. All muffled by the pillow or his arm, but Alex heard everything. And loved it.

His jaw was beginning to ache. Alex had no idea how long he'd been pleasuring Michael this way, but he didn't want to stop. At the same time, he'd started this for a reason.

Still teasing Michael's hole with his tongue, Alex applied more lube to his fingers. Then he reached up and began stroking Michael's hole with his finger. He'd lick, stroke, alternating.

"Alex," Michael groaned. He pressed his face in the pillow, braced his feet on the mattress and dug his fingers into the blanket.

"You okay?"

"Yes." It was a long, strangled sound and he wasn't sure it was affirmation or exclamation.

He licked the cleft again, then eased his finger into Michael. This time, he wasn't met with resistance. In fact, Michael lifted his hips. Pressed back against Alex, pushing him deeper into Michael's body.

"Feels good," Michael whispered, turning his head. His eyes fluttered shut when Alex drew his finger back and pressed forward again. "God. It's been too long."

"How..." He bit off his question.

Michael's lips curved. "I don't know. A few years. Four, maybe?" He let out a sharp breath. Twisted his hips. "Do another one."

"You sure?"

"Please."

Alex bit his lip. Eased a second finger into Michael. Stroked his bottom with the other hand, massaging.

He let off a noise of contentment deep in his throat.

"Like that?"

"Yes." He stretched his arms out in front of him. He lifted his bottom higher.

"Do you want... do you want be on your back? I'd like to see your face," Alex said hesitantly. He eased a third finger in. Thrust.

Michael stiffened slightly.

"What?" He stopped.

"I just... just... Nicky had me... on my back."

Oh.

He kissed the base of Michael's spine. "Okay. This is fine. As long as you're comfortable."

Michael suddenly sat up. Startled, Alex let his hand drop to the bed. Sat back and frown, questioning.

"I'm so stupid," Michael said. He climbed onto Alex's lap and wrapped his arms around Alex's neck. "I love you."

"I love you..." He was cut off as Michael drew him in to a fierce kiss. Alex kissed him back, holding Michael's head with a lube-sticky hand.

He felt Michael wrap his hand around his cock. Stroke its length. He realized that Michael had spread lube on his hand and was stroking it over Alex's cock and then...

He broke away. "Of *fuck*," he grunted as Michael's tight body engulfed his cock.

Michael let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah." His face screwed in concentration. Slowly--fuck, so Goddamn slowly--he slid down onto Alex until he was sitting completely in his lap.

Alex held him. His fingers dug into sensitive skin and he didn't care if he was hurting Michael because, Christ, it was all too much. The pressure, the heat. Michael, sitting on him. Him being inside, holding Michael, feeling his skin and his sweat and his breath and everything.

And tomorrow, he'd be gone. It'd all be gone.

"Shit," he swore, blinking away the sudden stinging in his eyes.

Michael wrapped his arms around Alex's neck. "Don't make me leave," he said. He moved his hips, causing a wave of pleasure to cascaded through Alex's body. "I'll be good. I'll be so quiet, no one else will know I'm here." He kissed Alex, his lips, his cheeks, his eyebrows. "Don't make me leave."

Alex kissed his neck. "It's not my choice." Kissed him again. "It's not my choice, but if I could keep you forever, I would. Never leave my side." He tilted his head back to receive a kiss. "But if I don't send you away now, you'll never be free."

Michael's hands tightened on Alex. "What about you?"

"Loving you has made me a free man. In a way I haven't been in so long."

A tear fell from Michael's eye onto Alex's face. He took Alex's mouth with his own. Their kiss grew more heated. Michael began to move faster, riding Alex more intently. They moved together, working each other to higher and higher heights. Clung to one another, sweat and tears mingling as they strove to their climax together, all the while knowing that tonight was the only certainty in their life. All they had, all they could count on.

After, they lay sated in one another's arms. Sleepy and spent and satisfied. But always, always, wanting more and knowing it could be a long time before they were together again.


	55. Chapter 55

Michael opened his eyes. Above him was the flat, grey painted wood of what was officially Alex's bunk. Once upon a time, when such things mattered. Of course, Alex had called top bunk in their last cell. And they'd only adhered to that for about a day or so. And then...

It wasn't like they hadn't slept apart since he'd been here. There'd been nights during the summer that had been too hot for any form of human contact. And at the beginning, when Alex had been sick. And after the attack. And a few nights where they'd just needed room.

But since Michael had come back, they hadn't been apart at night. Hadn't been apart. He'd kind of hoped that'd be the way they'd spend the rest of their lives.

Until the president had decided to pardon him. Pardoned him, and overlooked Alex.

He didn't even deserve it. Didn't even want it. Not like this. Not if it meant leaving the only thing that had made him happy--really, truly happy, like a human being happy--since college. If then.

The first alarm sounded. Lights flashed on.

Next to him, Alex stirred. His arms tightened around Michael. "New plan," he said, voice hoarse with sleep. "You curl up under the bed. Just stay there. They'll never see you. I'll put the sheet up all the time. No one will ever know you're here."

He laughed without sound. "I think the toilet is the same as Fox River. All we need to do is find a screw, wear it down, unscrew the toilet and dig a hole behind it. Then I can live in the wall."

Alex lifted his head. "Now you come up with the plan?"

Michael reached into the tear in the mattress. Pulled out the bolt. "Part one is done. And no one had to die in a riot for me to get it."

"Oh, babe." Alex moved and kissed him. Rubbed his cheek, his neck. Pressed their foreheads together. "It's for the best. And I'll be out in no time."

"Yeah. Time will just fly by. No job, no friends, no you."

"So, you'll get a job. You'll make new friends."

He laughed bitterly. "Oh, yeah. Making friends. That'll be a snap."

Alex sighed. Kissed him again. "Come on. Let's get up. Busy day today."

"Yeah," Michael said, feeling listless. He allowed himself to be pulled off the bed and to the sink. Washed his face, then picked up his toothbrush. "What are your plans today, anyway?"

Alex spit out a mouthful of toothpaste. "Well, after the love of my life gets taken out of here and set free, I plan to come back to my cell, crawl into my bed, and sulk the rest of the day."

As stupid as it was, Michael couldn't help the warm glow that went through him. Alex had seemed so happy when he'd heard the news Michael was leaving. While he'd said it was because he wanted Michael out and safe, Michael couldn't help feel that it was because... because he wanted to be rid of Michael. Because Alex was tired of him. He'd tried to tell himself that he was being stupid, that Alex really loved him, but... years of conditioning won over.

He was glad when Alex admitted that he was sad Michael was leaving. It reminded him that Alex was different. Alex chased him, sought him, held on though everything. He wouldn't send Michael away. Wouldn't forget about him.

"I'll visit," Michael said. The words were awkward and painful in his mouth. The intimacy they'd shared, they'd lived in breathed, reduced to a few hours in a waiting room, unable to touch the way they wanted.

"I'll call," Alex replied. He rinsed out his mouth. "Write, too. There's nothing more romantic than handwritten letters, right?"

He smiled. "Right."

They stood there a moment, looking at one another. Then Alex sighed. He reached out and touched Michael's cheek. "Promise me you'll try to build yourself a life out there?"

"It won't... it won't be complete without you."

"I know. But, still. Find something, some routine, some friends, some job, whatever. Find something to fill your days and make you happy."

He sighed. Nodded. "I will."

Alex kissed him. Caressed his cheek. "Come on. Get dressed."

Michael did as he was told, pulling on his prison blues for the last time. He was just finishing tying his shoes when the cell doors opened and they were called out. As he took his position on the line, he could feel everyone's eyes on him. Giving him looks. Trying to catch his eyes.

These were his friends. Weird. This was the first time he'd really had friends like this. So many people who cared about him. People he talked to every day, who listened to him. Who craved his opinion, his approval. Who teased him and loved him and made him feel accepted.

Prison wasn't supposed to be like this. And so much of it hadn't been. But... lately... it'd been home.

"All right. You're all here. Go to breakfast," Simms said. He waved the cons down the hall as he walked over to Michael and Alex. "Warden says to pull you out, Michael."

"What are you doing here?" he asked stupidly, that hollow, gut-punched feeling back in his stomach. "You worked last night."

"I traded so I could see you off." He squeezed Michael's arm gently. "Say your good-byes."

A lump blocked his throat. "Even Alex?"

Simms shook his head. "He'll go to breakfast, you'll go to the infirmary. We'll bring Alex to the warden's office after."

"Okay." He turned, half expecting to find his friends had gone off to breakfast without noticing what was happening. But they were all standing just off to the side, Randall, O'Connell, and Travis, waiting.

Randall moved forward first. "You take care, Mikey. Stay out of trouble."

"I will." He hesitantly held out his hand to shake, but Randall pulled him into a hug.

"You get a chance, come visit us." He pat Michael on the back, then stepped away.

O'Connell was next. He squeezed Michael tightly, then bat him lightly on the head. "See ya around, Blueprints."

He smiled. "Yeah. See you." Then he turned to Travis.

Travis glanced down at his shoes. "I'm sorry," he said to them softly. "I screwed it up. We coulda been friends, but I was a jerk." He looked back up. "I won't try anything. Not with Alex. Ever. I promise."

"I know. I trust you." Not to mention that he trusted Alex, but that was besides the point. He put his hand on Travis's shoulder and squeezed. "You keep your nose clean. Keep studying. Get your college degree."

"How am I supposed to do that without you? You're the only one who can put up me being so stupid."

"You are not stupid."

Travis rolled his eyes.

"You're not. And Alex can help you. We'll figure something out."

He mumbled something, but it was too low for Michael to hear. As Michael tried to figure it out, he punched Michael lightly on the shoulder and said, "Take care." Then, Travis turned and quickly hurried down the hall.

"He hates good-byes," O'Connell said. "He's been stressing about how to say good-bye to you all night. Don't take it personally."

"He doesn't even like me," Michael replied.

"Yeah, he does. He's jealous of you, but he likes you."

"Guys, you need to go," Simms said gently.

There was another round of hugs, then Alex was the only one left.

"I'll see you in a bit," he said. Michael could tell he was striving for casual. He leaned in and kissed Michael.

Michael clung to him, needing to prolonged and savor every touch, ever caress, every kiss as long as he could.

After what seemed an eternity and far too short, Alex pulled away. "You better go." He kissed Michael one more time, then quickly turned and walked away.

"It's really not the end of the world, you know," Simms said, taking Michael by the arm. "You're being set free, not executed."

He swallowed. "I know," he replied thickly. "It's just we've been through so much, and now we're going to have to live apart. And he's still in here."

"You have a lawyer?"

"Yeah."

"You might want to see if your lawyer can figure out what's going on with his paperwork. The warden may think that it's just that the president caved to public pressure on you, but hasn't gotten Alex's paperwork yet, but I find it suspicious. I mean, everyone knows about the two of you being in here together. There was an article written way back about you two being cellies. Nothing about you being together, but one of the COs was flapping his gums at the bar, just saying the warden put you together and you guys being friends. So it's not like people, not even the president, is clueless, you know? So, I'd just check into that."

Michael nodded. "Okay. There's probably, like, groups or something that will help me figure it out. And get Alex out of here."

"And, in the meantime, you make sure you're still doing things. You know, enjoying freedom and stuff." He reached into his pocket and handed Michael a slip of paper. "Here's my number. You give me a call sometime. We can go get a beer or something."

He took the paper and fiddled with it. "You sure it's safe to give this to me? I mean, I am a dangerous criminal."

Simms laughed and ushered him into the infirmary. "I've got one dangerous criminal here, ready for his exit eval."

Dr. Parsons came out of his office, file in hand. "I'll be sure watch my instruments to make sure he doesn't try to do something stupid to be allowed to stay."

Michael smiled crookedly. "It wouldn't work. I wasn't paroled. I was pardoned. If I attacked you, I'd have to go through the whole process of being retried. And I might end up in a new prison. Oh, and." He turned and pulled the bolt from his pocket. "Here," he said, handing it to Simms. "It goes to the bleachers on the far left of the field. Top seat. I mean, you'll see it's missing and all."

"What the hell were you doing with this?"

"I thought about unscrewing the toilet and hiding behind it. I just didn't have enough time."

Simms shook his head and sighed. "Michael Scofield, you are the craziest son of a bitch I've ever met." He pushed Michael, then turned and walked away.

"Let's into the exam room," Dr. Parsons said. He led Michael into the nearest room and shut the door. "I am required to inform you that you may decline the examination if you want. Since you've been pardoned, you're under no legal obligation."

"What's the exam?" Michael asked nervously. He tugged at his fingers.

"Just a quick check-up to make sure you're healthy. The state doesn't like us to send anyone sick onto the streets, not without medication or advice. It's nothing invasive."

Michael shrugged and climbed onto the table.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Dr. Parsons asked as he picked up the blood pressure cuff.

"Okay. I don't know. Kind of numb."

"In your case, I'm not surprised." He took Michael's blood pressure and said, "Your blood pressure is up, too."

"Is that bad?"

He shook his head. "It's normal. Most of the people being exited from the prison are nervous. Their blood pressure shoots up. I've even had a few give themselves a fever. It's not an easy thing, being pushed back into society. The best thing you can do for yourself, Michael, is to work on relaxation."

"Work on relaxation?" he repeated skeptically.

"Yes. We never got that class off the ground, but there are plenty of relaxation classes in the real word. Or join yoga. Swim. Do something."

"Why is everyone acting like I'm just going to be sitting at home in my room, wasting away?"

Dr. Parsons crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head. "Because that's what you do. To a certain extent. When Alex isn't around, you withdraw. Open your sketchbook and doodle. Sit and stare at a book. If the others didn't purposely pull you into their activities, you would just sit there until Alex came back."

He shook his head, air caught in his chest, painful, even though he knew what Dr. Parsons was saying was true. "I've always been a loner. I mean, I, uh... I prefer my own company."

"I don't doubt that. But, I think that in here, it's been magnified. And I think some of your experiences in here have made you even more reluctant to be away from Alex."

"I've dealt with the attack. I'm fine."

"A, no you're not. B, I think the riot has more to do with your reluctance than anything else. That really shook you and your security."

Michael sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Prison is boring. I don't deal with boredom well. I'll be fine out there."

Dr. Parsons gave him a skeptical look as he slipped the thermometer into Michael's mouth. "That may be so. You know yourself better than I do. Than any of us do. All I can say is the reason that everyone's worried is that you hold so hard to Alex, that sometimes it seems you'd be happy to give up your life and your identity and just let Alex dictate everything."

The thermometer beeped. Once it was out of his mouth, Michael said, "I wouldn't. I mean, I don't. I..." He couldn't think. Tears pressed behind his eyes.

"Michael, I'm not saying this to upset you." He put his hands on Michael's shoulders. "I'm worried, that's all. But I know how strong you are, so I know you'll be okay. You know you should continue therapy, right?"

"I know."

He stepped away and picked up a file. "This is your medical file. You should visit your regular doctor sometime this week. I'm sending you with a week's supply of your antidepressants; that's all I'm legally allowed to give you. Don't let them run out. It can be dangerous. If you don't have a doctor, I've included a list of referrals, both for primary care and psychological. If any of your doctors have questions, mine and Dr. Juarez's numbers are in there. And, my cell number is in there." He shrugged. "I'm not your doctor anymore, Michael. I thought maybe you and I could get together sometime. See a movie or something."

He couldn't help the laugh. "I swear. I'm leaving here with more friends than I came in with." He took the file. Dr. Parsons' name and number was right on top.

"Call me. Seriously."

"I will. Kyle." He slid off the table. "Am I done?"

"You're done. Just sign this." He held out a clipboard and pen for Michael, who signed on the line. "All right, you're clear. Your clothes are in the bag on the table; just make sure to sign the release inside verifying we gave you everything back. If something's missing, tell us so we can sort it out."

"Okay."

"Once you're dressed, Simms will take you up to the warden, and you're out of here."

Michael nodded. Tugged his fingers. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Of course."

"If you see Ricky, can you tell him I said good-bye. And that I wish him luck."

Dr. Parsons nodded. "I'll tell him."

There was an awkward hesitancy between them for a moment. Then Michael, used to the routine, stepped forward and gave him a hug. "Thanks for everything," he whispered, eyes squeezed shut. Because, while maybe, to Simms, Michael had been the lifesaver, to Michael, it was Dr. Parsons. He'd done everything for Michael. Been a nonjudgmental ear. Fixed him when he'd been broken. Been a friendly ear rather than an impassive doctor when Michael had needed one.

"Thank you," he said again.

"Thank you for reminding me why I took this job," Dr. Parsons replied. He squeezed Michael tightly, then released him. "All right. Go. It's time to fly this place."


	56. Chapter 56

"So, sign here, here, and here and you, sir, are a free man," the warden said.

Michael twirled the pen in his fingers. Gave the warden a crooked smile he didn't really feel. "Thought I was already free. I mean, what with the pardon."

"Deemed innocent, but, right now, you're still in custody of the state. If I thought you were a danger to yourself or society, I could hold you for something like fourteen more days without trial."

He looked up, heart pounding.

"I'm not going to, so put those puppy eyes away," he said gently.

Michael blushed. "I know. I..." Flustered and embarrassed, he looked back at the paperwork. Scanned the page, then signed the appropriate spaces. "What happens now?" he asked, setting the pen down.

"Now, you talk with your brother. There are reporters outside and you need to decide how to deal with them."

"Can I just go out the back?"

He stood. "Talk with your brother."

"What about Alex?"

"He's outside, too." The warden went to the door and opened it.

A moment later, Lincoln and Alex walked in. They both crossed the room to him, and the door shut, leaving them alone.

"You look good," Alex said. He tugged on the collar of Michael's blue shirt, smoothed down the suit jacket. "Of course, it's still blue."

"I like blue." He leaned in and kissed Alex, eyes closed, savoring.

"You are the most depressed looking pardoned man in the history of the world, Michael." Lincoln rubbed his back. "But think of it this way. You and LJ are going to be in the same house for a few months. And we get to be a family. A real family, and we get to focus on that. Not you having to bail me out, or make excuses to LJ why I follow through on a promise. We just get to be. A family."

He opened his eyes. Forced himself to smile, because he knew Lincoln meant what he said. Was sincere. But, as usual, he wasn't thinking. He was missing the details, those little ones that were so vitally important.

Yes, they would be a family. But Lincoln was making a new family now. With Pam and Cameron and LJ. And LJ was growing up. He had a girlfriend now and his own concerns. He didn't think Michael and Lincoln had hung the moon anymore, nor should he.

And Michael? His life was in here. Until Alex was released.

And everyone wondered why he was depressed.

"The warden said something about reporters?"

"Yeah." Lincoln pulled a chair closer and sat. "There are all kinds or reporters, outside the prison and our house. The president made a statement this morning about the pardon."

"Did he say anything about Alex?" Michael asked, threading his fingers with Alex's.

Lincoln shook his head. "But we'll get him out, Michael. You just gotta be patient.'

Michael licked his lips. Glanced at Alex.

Alex shrugged. "It's up to you."

"If I talk to a reporter," Michael said, "can I talk about Alex?"

"You can talk about anything you want. Seriously. Now, there's the one who wrote the story about you and Alex, Jenny Chung. She's just outside, hoping that she might get a chance to talk to you. You know she'll write a sympathetic story, and I'm sure she'd be willing to write as much about Alex as you want." Lincoln raised his eyebrows. "Well?"

Michael rubbed his head. "Can I get coffee? And something to eat? They pulled me out before breakfast." He lay his head on Alex's shoulder.

Lincoln looked from Michael to Alex, then stood. "I'll, uh. I'll see if I can get you anything." He went to the door, then stopped. "What do I say to Jenny?"

"Tell her yeah. I'll do it," Michael said listlessly.

"Great. I'll let her know." Grinning, Lincoln left the room.

He sighed and closed his eyes.

"How are you holding up?" Alex asked, slipping his arm around Michael's shoulders.

"Is it almost bedtime? I'm tired."

He laughed gently and kissed the top of his head. "A few more hours, then you'll be home. You can sleep then."

"It's like the day I got thrown in here all over again. A lot of waiting around, a lot of paperwork, and a lot of press."

"At least you don't have a cold this time."

Michael smiled. "I forgot about that. God, I was so miserable when I got here. Sick and... all I could think was that I hoped my cellie would let me sleep."

"And I didn't. I made you go out into the yard."

"I wanted to go into the yard," he said, resting his head on Alex's shoulder. "I wanted to follow you. I was too afraid that if I let you out of my sight, I'd wake up to find I'd dreamed the whole thing."

"Ah," Alex crooned, squeezing Michael close. "Are you telling me I'm the man of your dreams?"

He lifted his head and moved in for a kiss, not opening his eyes. Alex's lips were warm, tender, the way Michael always wanted to think of him. "Of course you are," he whispered.

Alex rested his forehead against Michael's. His arms came around him and they sat like that, not moving, just breathing one another in.

The door opened and Simms walked in. "Breakfast."

Michael pulled away from Alex.

Simms was pushing a cart. There were pancakes, eggs, sausage, bacon, orange juice, and coffee.

"Wow. Where'd this come from?" he asked. His stomach growled and he eyed the fluffy, steaming pancakes.

"Couple of the guys ordered from the pancake house. We've been keeping it warm." He set the cart in front of them and smiled. "Enjoy. They're running the reporter through security and paperwork right now, so you have some time."

"Thanks, Simms. This is... great."

He grinned. "You're welcome. Have a good breakfast." He left, closing the door.

Michael pulled off his suit jacket and carefully placed it on his chair. When he saw Alex looking at him with an eyebrow raised, he ducked his head. "I don't want to get syrup on my jacket." He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves.

Alex sighed. "Have I ever told you which is my favorite?" he asked, running a finger down Michael's arm.

He shook his head.

"This one." With the tip of his finger, he traced the words English, Fitz, Percy.

"Really? But it's... it's just the names of the streets."

"I know. But it was the tattoo that made everything click into place for me. Your tattoo artist said something about thinking the design was a private joke. I happened to be looking at a picture of this tattoo and remembered the name of the streets leading to Fox River. And that's when I knew." He moved to Michael's wrist and traced the letters RIPE CHANCE WOODS. "This is my second favorite. The first one I deciphered. Such a clever, clever boy." He lifted Michael's wrist to his mouth. Kissed it, lips caressing the skin.

He let out a shaky breath, a languorous heat moving through his body. "Do you think I'm going to be okay? On the outside?"

He wrapped his hand around Michael's wrist. "I do. Eventually. You'll just need to adjust."

"Then why is everyone acting like I'm going to... to lose it? They're acting like I don't know how to function without you. I mean... I mean, I'll miss you. I don't want to leave you. But... but everyone is... is..." He broke off. Clenched his jaw.

Alex stroked Michael's hand, long, strong strokes from his wrist to the tips of his fingers. "They're all worried. That's all. What they know of you is only what they see. And they see you sitting in the rec room or back in your studio, blocking out everything around you the best you can."

"I don't block anything out. I can't."

"I know. But they don't know that. They don't know that you've trained yourself not to respond to the minutia of everyday life and conversation unless it specifically involves you. That you've had to train yourself to focus only on what you're working on, because if you split your attention, everything bombards you. So, what they see, is that when I'm not around, and sometimes when I am, you go off into your own world, ignoring everything, until I bring you out. And they're afraid that, without me around, there won't be anyone to bring you out."

Michael frowned. "But... I had a life before you. I mean, it's not like I don't know how to be on my own."

Alex nodded. "I know. You'll be fine. But it will be a period of adjustment. It won't be easy. There will new patterns to learn, new stimuli to get used to. New ways to cope with it all. When you came here, it was easier because you were sick, and you had nothing to do but lay in bed and get used to what was around you. With Fox River, you had your mission to focus on. When you were on the run, it was staying free. But now, you don't have that. You have no job, no volunteer work, and dozens of people knocking at your door. So, it'll take a bit." He kissed Michael's cheek. "Plus, you've been walking around like it's the end of the world. So everyone's worried about you."

Michael turned his head. Kissed Alex desperately. "I hate change. Under any circumstances, I hate it. But it just seems that every time something in my life changes, I lose someone I love."

"You are not going to lose me." He framed Michael's face with his hands. Kissed him. "I'm not going anywhere."

"No, I am." He rested his head against Alex's. "I want to be happy. This is what I wanted for so long. To just be out of here. And now..."

"It'll get easier. It'll be less boring. You can start volunteering again. You'll be in an environment that's less drenched in pain and despair. No schedule to stick to. Freedom."

He sighed. "Freedom," he repeated. That word had never applied to him. His whole life had been one of obligation. To his mother, to be a good boy while she was working and sick. To his foster parents, so they wouldn't send him away. To Lincoln, being good for him and, later, bailing him out of whatever mess he got himself in to. To LJ. To his company. To the people suffering around him. So much obligation.

But now Lincoln didn't need him anymore. He had Pam. And LJ was fine. Even when he needed Michael, it wasn't like before. And, yes, there would always be suffering in the world and he would always feel it. But it wasn't the same. At least, he didn't think it was, or that he'd react the same way.

"Give yourself time, Michael. That's what it's going to take. Time. Don't expect so much from yourself all at once."

"I'm trying. But then, everyone else starts expecting stuff, and I just don't feel... I feel like I'm failing everyone or something."

"Ignore it. Concentrate on yourself."

His stomach growled. Michael pulled away from Alex and dove into his pancakes.

"Doctor Parsons gave me his home phone number," he said with a mouthful of pancakes and syrup. "Want it so you could crank call him?"

Alex laughed.

"Got Simms' too."

"Aren't you just the belle of the prison?"

"I feel like the most popular kid in high school or something. Everyone giving me their numbers and asking me to keep in touch." He shook his head as he sipped his coffee. "That's never happened before."

"What? Michael Scofield wasn't popular in school? With your pretty face?" Alex sounded aghast, but the smile tugging at his lips ruined it.

"My pretty face got me beat up a couple times. Although I was very popular the time I rigged the chem. teacher's experiment to explode. But, otherwise, it wasn't so much I was unpopular as I flew under the radar."

Alex nodded and poured himself some coffee. "How was it that you weren't valedictorian?"

He cleared his throat and ducked his head. "I purposely got a 'B' in a class so I wouldn't have to deal with it. It's not like it was going to hurt my efforts in getting into college. I got an almost perfect score on the PSAT, so I knew I was going to be okay. Besides. It meant more to the person who got it." He glanced at Alex. "What about you? Why weren't you valedictorian?"

"I barely graduated. I was too angry to study. Angry at my father, who, after my brother and I were too big to beat, turned all his attentions to my mom. Angry at the police, who never did a fucking thing. Angry at my teachers, at my classmates, at everyone." He shrugged. "I just wanted out, which is why I went straight into the army and became a grunt rather than try to become an officer. That'd take too much time."

Michael planted a syrup-sticky kiss on Alex's cheek. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not angry any more. And my life turned out okay. So, overall, I can't complain."

The door opened. Lincoln, the warden, and an unfamiliar man and woman entered.

"Michael, this is Jenny Chung."

Michael covered his sigh with his napkin as he wiped his mouth. He rose and held out a hand. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Chung."

"Call me Jenny, please. Thank you so much for allowing me to interview you."

He shrugged and smiled, sitting.

"And you must be Alex Mahone." She shook Alex's hand, then introduced the other man as David, her photographer. "So. I know you're probably anxious to get home, so why don't we get right to it? And just ignore David; he's going to be taking lots of pictures so we have stuff to choose from. We'll get one posed of you with Lincoln, too, but mostly, just let him do his thing."

"Okay," Michael said. He took another sip of his coffee.

Lincoln sat next to him and squeezed his shoulder.

Jenny set a small tape recorder on the table in front of her and pressed a button. "So. Michael. Congratulations about on your pardon."

"Thank you."

"How are you feeling about it?"

"Um. Surprised, honestly. I wasn't expecting to be pardoned. Alex and I both applied for a commutation of sentence, and that was the best I thought I could hope for."

"Were you aware of the efforts to pardon you?"

He nodded. "They sent me some letters letting me know. And Lincoln told me."

"Do you have anything to say to the people who organized the petitions and protests and letter writing campaigns?"

"Um. Thank you?" He glanced at Alex, who smiled encouragingly. "I guess I want to say that what they did was unexpected and I really appreciate it." He took Alex's hand. "As much as I appreciate it, I do with the president would have seen fit to commute Alex's sentence. He deserves to be out of here, and I can't be truly happy until he's out, too."

Jenny scribbled something in the notebook open on her lap. "Did Alex apply for commutation the same time as you?"

Michael looked at Alex.

Alex cleared his throat. "I did. The warden encouraged us both to apply soon after the riot."

"The riot in which the two of you protected to guards, saving their lives, correct?"

"Um. Yes," Alex replied.

She nodded. "Do you think the president snubbed or denied your petition because you are a former FBI agent, Mr. Mahone?"

"I haven't received an official denial yet," he replied, hand tightening in Michael's. "My assumption right now is that he hasn't gotten the paperwork yet. He just decided to see that true justice was done in Michael's case and forego formalities."

"Do you think your sentence will be commuted?"

"I hope so."

"I'm going to try to do whatever I can to get him out," Michael said, handing tightening in Alex's. His heart pounded in his ears as he said it, the first statement that wasn't in response to a direct question. "I'm hoping I can find some group or something... or just a lawyer who might help find a way to bring Alex's case to the president's attention."

"Do you think the president will be sympathetic to Alex's cause? He did, after all, kill quite a few people."

Michael's stomach twisted. The coffee burned at the stomach lining. "I committed crimes, too."

"Because the company set up your brother. You wouldn't have done it otherwise."

"And Alex wouldn't have killed any of the escapees..."

"Michael." Alex put his free hand on Michael's knee. "Ms. Chung, I willingly turned myself in, and I am willing to serve my sentence as the court mandated. However, I know I'm not a danger to society. The warden feels that all I'm doing in here is taking up space that could be used for another prisoner. Someone who needs to be off the streets, who does present a danger to society. I'm sorry for what I did, and I hope the president will see that I'm a changed man."

Her lips curved. "Is Michael part of the reason you changed?"

Michael glanced at Alex, eyebrow raised.

Alex's cheeks looked a touch pink. "Yes. But not because I love him or he loves me. But because, after fighting so hard to save his brother's life, the minute he found out Lincoln had been exonerated, Michael came to me and turned himself in. He reminded me of why I became an FBI agent, why I love this job and this country." Then, he leaned in and kissed Michael chastely on the lips. "And then I fell in love with him, and wanted, more than ever in my life, except perhaps the day I first held my son in my arms, to be the best man I could possibly be."

Tears prickled behind Michael's eyes. He leaned in and gave Alex another kiss, holding him there longer, not able to bear the thought that they'd soon be apart for who knew how long.

"So," Jenny said when they pulled apart. She cleared his throat. "What do you plan to do when you get out, Michael? Besides working to free Alex?"

He blinked a few more times and turned back to her. "Um. I'm not entirely sure yet. I'll probably do something more with my art. Maybe get back into volunteering in some capacity. I don't know about work. It's kind of... overwhelming at this point."

"I understand. Do you plan to go on any talk shows like your brother did when he was first exonerated?"

Michael glanced at Lincoln.

Lincoln shrugged. "That's up to you, of course."

"If it helps Alex, I guess." He rubbed his forehead.

"I think that's all," Lincoln said. He put his hand on Michael's shoulder.

Jenny nodded. "Okay. Oh, but one last thing. Michael, Alex. Are you still planning on getting married?"

"Yes," he said, fighting the urge to rest his head on Alex's shoulder.

"What if Alex isn't released?"

He just sighed.

Alex answered for him. "We'll be getting this December, whether I'm released or not."

"But what about your honeymoon? The state of Illinois doesn't recognized a gay couple's right to marry. You won't be allowed a conjugal visit."

"That's not the point," Michael said. "All that matters is that we make our vows and know that we belong to one another." He shrugged. "That's all I really care about."

Jenny smiled and made a final note. "Thank you, Michael, for your time. And good luck."

"Thanks." This time he did rest his head on Alex's shoulder and closed his eyes. Tightened them when a flash went off, but ignored it. Ignored everything but the sound of Alex's breathing, his heart. The smell of his skin and the fabric of his clothing.

"Michael."

Lincoln.

He opened his eyes to find Lincoln kneeling on the floor in front of him. His eyes were warm and expressive. Sad. "It's time to say good-bye, kid," he said, like he'd said so many times before.

Michael opened his mouth. No words came out.

His brother nodded. "I'll be outside. Don't be long." He rose and left the room.

Alex stood. Pulled Michael to his feet. "I'll see you this weekend," he said. He threaded their fingers of both their hands together. Stepped close, bodies touching.

"I know." His eyes were squeezed shut. He swayed in. Kiss Alex.

Alex's hands tightened in Michael's. "I'll be fine in here. You'll be fine out there."

"I know."

Alex kissed him. His lips were soft, tongue gentle as it moved against Michael's own. Stroked and played with it. Memorized and mapped. One hand released Michael's to come up and hold the nape of his neck.

Michael clutched at Alex's shirt. Kissed with a hopeless desperation he hadn't felt since he was a child and Lincoln was being carted away to juvie.

Alex broke away first. "I can't..." He moved in and kissed once more. "I have to say goodbye now, Michael."

His heart hurt and there was a pain in his head. "Okay."

"I'll call you this evening. Before... Or if I can't get to the phone, tomorrow. First thing."

He nodded.

Alex kissed him once more, softly. Sweetly. Then, he stepped back. There was pain on his face mirrored Michael's own. "I love you," he said hoarsely.

"I love you too." All his air and tears were stuck in Michael's throat. The words hurt, everything hurt.

Watching him walk out of the room knifed at him.

He took a breath. Tears spilled from his eyes. He couldn't move, couldn't think. Just stood there and gazed blindly at the door his heart had just walked out of.

Lincoln appeared. He hesitated in the doorway, then came over to Michael. His big, strong arms came around him and Lincoln squeezed him tight, just like when they were kids. "Come on, Michael," he said softly, rubbing his cheek on Michael's hair. "Let's go home."


	57. Chapter 57

The ride home was a total blur. Just one howling mob of screaming people an flashing lights. Sirens and cameras and people shouting his name. Lincoln kept telling him to keep his eyes closed, to just relax and listen to the music. Unfortunately, the CD he'd brought (relaxing piano) had been accidentally switched out with Cameron's NSYNC CD. Not exactly relaxing, but Lincoln kept singing under his breath to all the songs, so it was amusing. Or would be if he could feel anything other than this painfully sharp dullness that stabbed inside.

"Almost there. Maybe five more minutes. How are you holding up?" Lincoln asked as he turned yet another corner.

Michael shrugged and rested his head against the window. "Fine." He gazed out at the police car in front of them, leading their way back to Lincoln's house. "How many rooms are in your house, anyway?"

"Five. Two bathrooms, plus the master bath." He glanced over at Michael. "I'm in the master bedroom, but if it turns out that you'd be more comfortable in there, I have no problem with switching."

"No. No, Linc, it's okay. I wouldn't want to kick you out of your room in your own house. That'd be... rude."

"Okay, first of all, it's your house, too, Mikey. Second, take a look in the mirror sometime and then tell me how me switching bedrooms is such a sacrifice."

He just sighed. Closed his eyes. "I feel kind of sick."

He could feel Lincoln looking at him. Waited for him to keep going with the conversation, to push about the house and all that stuff Michael wasn't ready to think about.

But, instead, all Lincoln said was, "Just relax. You're just over stimulated, that's all. Block it out."

"It's not that easy." He swallowed and squirmed in his seat.

"I know it's not." He snapped the CD off and started scanning the radio stations. "I've been with you your whole life, Michael. Don't act like I don't know anything about you. I know it ain't easy for you to block things out when you're agitated. But you can do. I've seen you do it. So.... Ah, finally."

Soft music filled with violins flowed out of the speakers and washed over them.

Lincoln turned it a little louder, then looked over at Michael. "You know you how to calm yourself down, Michael. Breathe. Turn inward. Do whatever it is you usually do to get to a point where all the stimuli doesn't bother you." His teeth clicked. "You need to do it now, because it's kind of worse at home. I want you to be prepared."

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone is there. News. Fans. The kids you tutored. I think some people you used to work with, former teachers, classmates. It's crazy out there. The police had to cordon off the street and set up barricades."

Michael shook his head, a throbbing beginning in his temples. "Why? Why does anyone care?"

Lincoln shrugged. "We're news. Ever since I was first framed, we've been news. At least I've been news." He gave Michael a half smile. "You were news the moment we managed to break out. You can thank your boyfriend for making sure everyone knew exactly who we are and what we look like."

"Fiancée," Michael corrected. His stomach was hollow. Suddenly, breakfast didn't seem like it'd been that great an idea. The pardon didn't seem like such a great idea. He wanted to go home, only he didn't know where that was. He was being taken to a house he'd never lived in. He'd just left a prison where he'd been slowly dying. Of course, he'd also left his heart in that prison. So. Where did that leave him?

"Right. Fiancée. Sorry. Hey, you know what? When everything dies down, we could go shopping for the rings. Did you ever decide what you wanted to get inscribed?"

"Not yet." He swallowed. "Um. Are we close?"

"Yeah. Why? Need a couple minutes?"

He nodded, trying to forced his heart out of his throat.

"No problem." Lincoln picked up the walkie-talkie attached to a radio the police had given them before they left the prison. "Car forty-five? This is Lincoln."

Michael closed his eyes and lay back against the seat. He breathed slowly, filling his lungs to capacity. Listened to the music playing softly against the sound of traffic.

There was a burst of static, then a voice. "Anywhere in particular you need to go? Over."

In to a count of six. Hold. Exhale eight.

"Naw. Michael's just worked up and I want to make sure he's calm before facing that crowd."

Picture a happy place. Calm, quiet. Safe.

"No problem. Just tell me when you're ready. Car forty-five out."

Him and Alex at the beach. No one around for miles. Just them, lying on the sand. Alex trailing his hand up and down Michael's back. Caressing. Soothing. Waves crashing against the shore. Birds calling. Wind and sun washing over their bare skin. And Alex's heartbeat, steady and strong. Home.

He stayed on the beach, with Alex. Breathed and dreamed. His muscles unknotted. Stomach settled. Headache retreated. He felt more in control.

Michael yawned. Stretched his back, arching it, before lifting each shoulder slowly, feeling his muscles loosen. He opened his eyes. "Okay," he said, voice steady. "I'm ready."

Lincoln looked over at him. Reached out and put his hand on Michael's shoulder. "It's going to be okay, Michael. A day or two of craziness, then it'll go away."

"Did it with you?"

Lincoln shrugged. "It took a few weeks. But that's because you were on trial, so the spotlight was on. With you, it'll probably die down faster."

"Even if I'm working to get Alex out?"

"Even if. The crowd stuff goes away pretty quickly. There's still attention after, but the mob loses interest within a day or two."

Michael nodded. Rubbed his temples. Nodded. "I hope so." He pressed against his eyes. "Okay. Let's get there. Now, while I'm ready."

Lincoln squeezed his shoulder. Then he picked up the walkie-talkie and radioed the squad car to head back.

"Christ," Michael swore when he saw the crowd.

Lincoln hadn't been exaggerating. The block was closed off to traffic by a police barricade. People thronged on the street, on the sidewalks, on lawns. Michael saw a few of the neighbors were selling drinks and stuff, which made him feel a little better; he'd hate to think anyone was unconvinced because of him.

Reporters crowded the sides of the car, banging on the window, shouting questions. The police were trying to hold them back, but there were too many. One woman jumped on the back of the car and held on; a man tried to crawl up the front.

"Jesus," Lincoln swore, slamming on the breaks. His knuckles were tight on the wheel. "Can you believe they started lining up last night? You'd think you were a parade or movie or something."

Michael gave his brother a half-smile. "I was. Watched it last night." Then his eyes zeroed in on someone familiar. "Damn. She's here."

Lincoln frowned and glanced away from the police car. "Who?"

"Sofia... um. Sofia. I can't remember her last name." He nodded at the woman standing right near Lincoln's house. "She's the one who sends me letters every month and dirty pictures. She wrote this letter after the article about me and Alex saying that she was going to save me from him."

"Think she's going to be a problem?"

Michael shrugged. "I don't know." He winced when she spotted him.

She grinned and waved, like she was a friend or something.

Not knowing what to do, Michael slouched in his seat a bit and waved back, embarrassed. Wishing he could disappear. He heard Lincoln saying something over the radio. There was another voice, and a few seconds later, an officer moved closer to where Sofia was. He didn't say anything to her, just stood by her and kept a watchful eye.

"Here we are," Lincoln said. He turned into the driveway as officers waved him through the crowd.

Michael could hear screams and shouts. People were bouncing up and down.

"You don't park in the garage?"

"No," Lincoln sighed. "I want to, but first the garage door opener broke and then, after I got it fixed, I lost the control. Twice." He shrugged and shot Michael a smile. "I figured someone was trying to tell me something."

"Don't protect your car from potential thieves and the elements?"

"Sorry, man. I can get a new one, but..."

"But I still have to go out there right now." Michael sighed. Took another breath, then opened the door.

The scream from the crowd was deafening. It sounded vaguely like a thousand people all shouting parts of his name at different times. There were posters with his name and picture. People wore tee-shirts with his face. A few people had what looked like almost exact replicas of his tattoo on their shirts. Cameras flashed, blinding him. Lights from the television cameras hurt his eyes. Microphones were shoved in his face, but he couldn't understand anything being said.

"Sir. Come on." A police officer took him by the arm and tugged.

Michael followed numbly. He was squinting, tears clouding his vision from the brightness. His ears were ringing. It was all too much. There was no way every to prepare for insanity like this.

"You okay?" Lincoln asked, appearing on the other side of him.

"Yeah," he managed. "Jesus."

"I know."

There was a short walkway that led from the driveway to the front door. It seemed like miles.

Suddenly, through the roar of voices, a familiar one caught his ear.

"Michael! Michael!"

Michael glanced back, feeling Lincoln's hand tighten on his.

Shelly, one of the kids he used to tutor, was standing just on the other side of the police barricade. Another kid, Andrew, stood next to her. As Michael's eyes focused, he saw that a whole crowd of kids he'd mentored at the Chicago Youth Outreach program.

He broke away from Lincoln and the police officer. There was an immediate raise in the noise level, but he didn't care. Those kids had been his life for so long, and he'd let them down by the things he did. He had to make amends somehow. Apologize. Do something.

"You're actually home!" Shelly squealed when Michael reached his kids. She reached out for him, tears streaming down her face. "I wasn't sure it'd actually work, but you're here."

"Hey, Shelly. Don't." He wiped the tears from her face. Gave her a hug, while he clasped the outstretched hands of as many of his kids--now all grown and in college and looking so healthy and responsible. "I'm so glad to see you all. God. Andrew, you look... And Jose! You have a mustache. Karen. How's your sister? And..." He squeezed Shelly and shook his head. "Guys, I'm so sorry I let you down."

"What are you talking about, Michael?" Andrew said. He had hold of Michael's arm, like he couldn't believe he was here. "You didn't let any of us down."

Michael shook his head. "What I did. Broke so many laws. Laws I tried to get you to respect, and I just..."

"You did what you taught us," Shelly said, pulling away. "You fought for what you thought was right."

"And then were willing to face the consequences," added Andrew. He shrugged. "But we had to get you out. So we did what you taught us and used the law to get justice."

Michael blushed. Shook his head. "Guys." He didn't know what else to say.

"Michael," Lincoln said, coming up behind him. "Come on. Let's get inside. You can talk to them later, okay?"

He glanced back. Nodded. "Okay." He turned back to his kids. "Thank you. For everything, guys."

He received bright smiles and a chorus of goodbye and good luck. Then he turned, following his brother.

"Michael! How does it feel to be out of prison?"

"Do you have anything to say to the president?"

"What about those who oppose the pardon? Are you a dangerous man?"

"Michael! Do you..."

The door opened. Pam reached out and wrapped her arm around him, drawing him into an embrace and into the house. "Welcome home," she said, holding him close.

Michael allowed himself to be pulled away from the door. He hugged her back, some of the tension seeping out of his body.

The door shut behind him. The noise level fell.

He pulled away. "Thanks." He rubbed his eyes and looked around, feeling dazed. "LJ?"

LJ was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, Cameron leaning against his leg. Cameron was vibrating with barely contained energy, squeezing his Nemo toy between his hands. LJ was barely any more contained, his fingers combing through Cameron's hair and trembling.

"LJ, I..."

"I'm so glad you're home," LJ said, his voice hoarse. He broke away from the doorway and flew to Michael. His arms came around Michael's body, vise-like, and he held on.

"Uncle Mike!" Cameron shrieked. He threw himself at Michael's legs, almost bowling him and LJ over.

He laughed and ruffled Cameron's hair. "Hey, kiddo." He squeezed LJ and kissed him on he cheek. "I'm glad to be home," he said. Careful not to let go of LJ, he bent down and pulled Cameron up, balancing him on his hip.

Cameron immediately covered Michael's face with kisses, little arms around Michael's neck. "I can't believe you're here!"

LJ cracked up, burying his face against Michael's neck.

Michael grinned. Kissed Cameron and hugged him tight. "I can't believe I'm here, either." He glanced over at Lincoln and Pam, standing side by side. The picture was incomplete, but it was almost right.

He sighed, leaned his head against LJ's and said softly, "I can't believe I'm... almost home."


	58. Chapter 58

It'd taken a better part of the day, but Alex was finally exactly where he wanted to be: in his cell, sheet down, in bed, staring at a book. Staring, not reading, because, right now, he couldn't process anything. Michael was gone and, for the first time since they'd applied for commutation, Alex no longer believed in it.

He sighed and shut the book. This was stupid. He knew he was being stupid. All the reasons he'd given Michael that were in favor of them getting their sentences commuted were still there, even if Michael was gone. The warden still supported Alex's released. His letters of recommendation were still valid. He still behaved like a model prisoner and had successfully protected two inmates who'd had hard times behind bars. Well. Sort of. He'd done his best with Michael.

Now Michael was gone. And there wasn't any booze around to forget about that for awhile.

He'd kill for some midazolam. Just for the next few days. Just... to get him through. Help him sleep. Make it a little less real until he could deal with it.

Ah, fuck. Now he was going have to tell Hulbert that he was craving drugs and it was going to become an issue. He'd been so good for so long about needing drugs to get by. And now? He wanted something so badly, his stomach hurt. He wished Sammy were here so Alex could get something, anything.

Of course. Even in protective segregation, there were still ways to get drugs. And Alex always knew what was going on around him.

"Alex!"

He sighed. "Come in, Travis."

The sheet was pushed aside and Travis came into the cell. He was holding his math book and folder, pencil between his fingers.

"Hey," he said softly. "Look, I'm really sorry to, uh. To bother you. I know you're depressed because of Michael, and I know you want to be left alone, but... but, uh. I've, uh, got this test coming up." He gave Alex the look of a hungry puppy.

Alex sighed and pushed himself into a sitting position. "Sure. Have a seat."

"You trust me in here?"

"I'm too tired to go back out to the rec room." He took a seat at the table and gestured for Travis to sit. "They still playing news about Michael?"

"It's either that or the Price is Right. Man, I wish we could get cable in here. They have cable at Shawnee."

Alex shrugged. "Then get transferred. Or, next time you get sent to prison, request a prison with cable."

Travis rolled his eyes. "I'm not getting sent to prison after this. Nuh-uh. I'm totally straight after this. Expect, for. You know." He batted his eyelashes at Alex.

"You're gay. I got that. So. Math." He opened Travis's math book.

"No, wait!" The kid snatched the book back, panic on his face, but Alex already had seen it.

He pulled the note out of the book and smiled stupidly at it.

Travis, it said in Michael's strong script, Don't let Alex alone for too long. Draw him out of the cell or at least get him to interact with you. Remember your promise. Michael.

"I wasn't supposed to let you see that."

"It's okay. I won't tell." He folded the note and slipped it into the pocket of his shirt.

"I really do need help. I'm so stupid. Michael was the only thing that was getting me through this, and now..." Travis broke off and swallowed. "Sorry, man."

"You're not stupid." He put his hand on Travis's shoulder. "Thanks."

He was rewarded with a small smile, a blush, and a shrug. "Yeah, well. I owe him. I mean, because. You know. After the shit I pulled, he was so nice. He's kind of... good. So. You know."

"Yeah. I do know." He sighed. "I know."

* * *

"Now, you'll probably have some trouble sleeping," Lincoln had warned him. "The first night's the worse, just like it's the worst in prison. Just do you best, try to relax, and sleep will come eventually."

Right. Well. Lincoln hadn't been lying. He'd pulled Michael aside about six hours ago--before he and Pam had gone off to bed--and warned Michael about this. Offered to stay up with him, if he wanted.

"I just want to make this as easy as I can for you," he'd said.

Michael hadn't told him that there was no way to make this easy. Hadn't said that he was too used to sleeping pressed against someone else in a bed meant for one and the king Linc had bought for him was too big to be comfortable. That the house was too quiet, even though there were still some persistent stragglers camped out on their lawn and cars came down the street about every half hour. That the shadows were all wrong in the room, and it was too dark when the lights were off and to bright when they were on. That the sheets were too soft and the mattress unfamiliar and nothing smelled right and... and... and...

Michael pushed himself into a sitting position, hands pressed against his eyes. His heart was racing and sweat beaded at his temples and wrists.

The plan had saved him from this his first night at Fox River. Alex had saved him from his most recent stint in prison. There was no one and nothing here to stop him from being overwhelmed.

He needed to move.

He climbed out of bed and pulled on his robe. It was soft, blue, light. Lincoln had picked it out, Pam had said. Insisted, actually. The robe, the pajamas, clothes for the next few days until Michael could go shopping for himself. The bedroom had been LJ's domain. He had expensive tastes, probably from Lisa and her second husband. High thread count sheets of Egyptian cotton, down comforter, pillows he could practically sink into.

Not comfortable enough. Too much like the echo of a life he'd left, one he'd thought he'd never see again. And probably wouldn't, really. Lincoln had been compensated by the government for what he'd gone through, but Michael had lost everything. Given away everything.

He'd never thought he'd be here again. In a real house, preparing for a real life. To return to the real world. He'd though... Panama. The boat. If he didn't die before that.

Except none of that had happened. And now he was here. In Lincoln's house. Trying to get to sleep.

Bing-bong

Michael stopped in front of LJ's room. Light seeped from underneath LJ's door and he could hear the clacking of computer keys.

He knocked softly. "LJ?"

"Come in, Uncle Mike."

LJ was sitting at his desk in front of his computer. The lights were off, but he had a desk lamp switched on. The room was a mess with clothes and books thrown every which way. A Cub's pennant hung on the wall, as did posters of bands, TV shows, and a couple theater playbills. The wall against which his desk was pushed, though, was dedicated to family pictures. Michael recognized all of them as having hung in Lisa's family room and was glad that they'd still been around by the time the mess had ended.

He sat on LJ's bed. "Who are you talking to?"

"Cindy." He typed something, then turned around and sat backwards in his chair. "Can't sleep?"

"No. You?"

"I'm nocturnal. I stay up most of the night then sleep until noon."

"And your grades?"

He shrugged. "I'm fine. I only do it on weekends. The rest of the week, Dad makes me turn off the computer by eleven."

"How's Cindy?"

"Good. She says hi. And that warm milk is supposed to help you sleep."

Michael's lips twitched. "Maybe I'll try that." He sighed and pulled his legs to his chest. "Didn't mean to disturb you."

"No, it's fine. Cindy was saying she needed to get to bed. She was tired." His bright eyes gazed at his uncle, the lamplight catching them so they gleamed. "How are you?"

"Fine."

"You don't have to lie to me."

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. "I can't sleep, that's all. Everything hurts."

"Is it just missing Alex?"

"That's a big part of it. I'm used to him being there, pressed against me. I fall asleep to his breathing." He sighed and rubbed his neck. "I get into a groove, find ways to cope with all the stimulus around me, and then I can't adjust easily when it all changes."

"I remember when you went to college, how when you'd come back for Christmas and stuff, you'd have problems sleeping. Mom used to say I had to be really quiet."

Michael smiled. "Except, I needed the noise."

"You made me jump on the bed."

"It made it sound more like the dorm."

"Gross!"

Michael tossed a pillow at LJ. "That's not what I meant. My neighbors would run in and out of their dorm all night, jump on the beds, dance, run out. Lots of noise."

"Oh, sure." LJ rolled his eyes, grinning. "Uncle Mike? Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"How did you know you were in love with Alex?"

Michael let out a breath. "I just did. I... I can't explain it. It's not something I can put into words. I just... knew." He looked away, then back at LJ. "You think you're in love with Cindy?"

He shrugged. "Maybe." He licked his lips. "I think about her a lot. When I learn something new, something interesting, I want to tell her right away. And I want to make her happy. Make her laugh. And just being with her makes me... makes me feel like I'm glowing."

"Sounds like you're falling in love."

"Dad said maybe I'm too young."

"Your dad fell in love with he was six." When LJ looked up, he clarified, "Veronica."

"Oh. Right." He squirmed and said, "I just think he doesn't, you know. Want me to move to fast or anything."

Michael nodded. Rubbed his hand over the bedspread. "Have you slept with her?"

LJ, cheeks red, shook his head.

"But you want to?"

"I don't..." His face turned brighter red and he lowered it to the back of the chair. "Look. You can't tell Dad," he said, voice muffled.

That didn't sound good. Michael scooted to the edge of the bed and leaned forward. "What's wrong? LJ, you can tell me anything. You know that."

"Promise me."

He didn't want to. Keeping things from Lincoln never turned out well. On the other hand, if he didn't promise, LJ wouldn't tell him. So...

Michael sighed. "Okay. I promise. I won't tell your dad."

LJ nodded. His shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath. "Okay. So. Um. When I was in prison, they had me segregated from everyone, because I was a minor. Still in the adult prison, but... And these guards followed me everywhere. There was this one who, uh." He took another breath. "Even when I was in the shower. He was there. And he'd, uh. Make comments and stuff. About my body. That it was ugly and my... my dick was too short. Too small. And he made me... Told me to touch myself. I didn't want to, but he said he'd taser me if I didn't. So... only, I couldn't, you know. I was too scared. And that just made him laugh harder. Said I wasn't a man and stuff."

"Fuck. LJ." Michael got off the bed and knelt by the chair. "Have you told anyone?"

"No." He rolled his head to the side. Looked at Michael out of bloodshot eyes. "I just... I know he was an asshole. That he isn't right. And that what... what he said, it was just to get to me." His lower lip trembled. "But it did."

Michael pulled LJ down into a fierce embrace. Every bit of him ached and he wished more than anything he could take this away from his nephew. But he knew from experience that there was nothing anyone could do. Nothing but be there and hold him and listen. And...

His fingers tightened on LJ's back. A scream built in his throat, but he held it back. Swallowed it, stopped breathing and held on to LJ as tightly as he could.

And then, LJ whispered, "Are you mad at me?"

"LJ, no." He forced himself to release his death grip. Sat back and turned LJ's face toward him. "I'm not mad at you."

"But... all he did was look at me and now I can't... I'm too afraid to be naked around someone else. You went through something a lot worse and you're okay."

He snorted. "I'm not okay. I'm better, but I'm not at okay yet. And there's no... I don't know. It's not like there's a necessary threshold of evilness that has to happen to you before you're allowed to get uncomfortable and upset. It happened to you. It was sick and an abuse of power. And... You should file charges."

"If I did that, Dad would know."

"He needs to know. You need to tell him. And your psychologist. You can't let the guard get away with it." He combed his fingers through the ends of LJ's hair. "I know you won't believe me, but you'll feel better. More in control. Less of a victim."

LJ stuck out his lower lip. Eyes on Michael's robe, which he rubbed between two fingers, he said, "If I do. Tell Dad. Will you be there with me?"

"Of course." He frowned. "You didn't wait for me, did you?"

LJ shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. Kind of."

He sighed. Leaned forward and rested his forehead against LJ's. "Kid. I'm not always going to be here. You need to start trusting your dad. Yourself."

"Where are you going now?" his voice cracked.

"It's not me. You're growing up."

"That doesn't mean I won't need you. I don't need you." He sniffed. Yawned.

"Tired?"

"Yeah." He pulled away.

"You going to be okay to sleep?"

"I think so."

"You can come downstairs with me."

He shook his head. "No, I'm good." He pressed his face into Michael's neck and whispered, "I'm glad you're home, Uncle Mike."

He smiled, feeling sad. "Me, too." When LJ yawned again, Michael pat him on the cheek. "Go to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay. Seriously, try the milk. I bet it will help."

"I will. Thanks." He bent close and kissed LJ on the forehead, wishing that he could take away all the pain with one little caress. "Good-night."

"Night."

Michael closed the door behind him and continued the way down the hall. He could hear Lincoln snoring through the bedroom door. Lincoln had snored since he was about fifteen. At first, it'd driven Michael crazy, kept him up at nights. Then, within weeks, it'd become his lullaby. Linc would make Michael go to bed early, even nights Lincoln worked late. Michael would obey, not wanting to get the shit kicked out of him, but lay awake in bed until Lincoln came home. The moment Linc's head hit the pillow, the snoring would start and, within minutes, Michael was out.

He wondered if it was the same for Pam, or if she was like Veronica and had invested in a pair of earplugs.

Then again, Alex snored on occasion, so maybe she was just used to it.

Michael sighed, his chest aching. He missed Alex. And he was frustrated because he knew that in a few days, he'd be okay again, into a new routine and functioning like a normal person. And then, maybe, hopefully, Alex would be released and Michael would have to adjust all over again. Of course, that adjustment he didn't mind. It was everything that came before. A waste of time, in his opinion.

Cameron was asleep in the living room. Not wanting to wake him, Michael tread as softly as possible on his way to the kitchen. Once inside the kitchen, he turned on the light over the stove and went to the refrigerator.

When he was little, before Mom died, she used to make him warm milk with vanilla and sugar when he couldn't sleep. She'd wrap him in a blanket and sit with him on the couch, stroking his hair and singing lullabies until he fell asleep in her arms. When LJ was little, Michael had done the same for him. As a child, LJ had been prone to bouts of insomnia, kept up by worry over Lincoln or his mother or nightmares.

He hadn't had warm milk for years now. It'd lost its appeal after he and Lincoln had started fighting all the time. After he'd gone to college and learned to work himself into exhaustion. To quite his mind by learning patterns and creating routines.

Now, here, with family, it just seemed right. Even if the most important part of that family was still behind bars.

Michael found a pan and poured the milk in.

"Uncle Mike?"

Damn. "Hey, Cameron. Did I wake you up?"

The little boy shuffled into the room. He rubbed his eyes with one small fist and clutched his fish with the other. His hair stood straight up in places and his skin was pressed with sleep lines. "It's okay." He blinked up at Michael. "What are you doing?"

"Making some warm milk to help me sleep. Do you want some?"

"Warm milk?" He came closer until he was almost pressed against Michael's leg. "Is that good?"

"I like it." He poured more milk into the pan. Then, when Cameron pressed against him again, he bent over and picked the boy up. "I put sugar and vanilla in it. To help me sleep. It is good."

Cameron put his arms around Michael's neck. Rested his head on Michael's shoulder. "I always drink cold milk."

"That's how I usually drink it, too. But at night, it supposed to help you sleep. There's a chemical in it called tryptophan and your body uses it to make chemicals that make you sleep." Michael shrugged. "And, even if that's not true, it's comforting."

"Tryptophan," Cameron said carefully. He yawned. "Uncle Mike. I'm glad you're home."

"Me too." He kissed the top of Cameron's head.

"Is Daddy coming home soon?"

He sighed and stirred the milk. "I hope so."

Cameron shifted. "When Daddy comes home, is he gonna live here?"

"Probably not. Maybe at first, but he and I will probably move somewhere else. Another house."

"Where?"

"I don't know. Maybe across the street. Or maybe, we'll stay here and Lincoln and LJ move across the street with you and your mom."

Cameron sniffed. "But why can't we all live in the same house?"

Michael smiled a trifle bitterly. He remembered asking Alex the same thing and being gently rebuffed. Even now, he still thought the idea had merit. Not in one of these houses, of course, but in another one. A bigger one. One he designed.

For now, though...

"There's not enough room for all of us."

"Uh-huh! LJ has a room and Lincoln and Mommy have a room, and you have a room and Daddy can sleep in there. And I'll sleep down here in the room."

"There are enough rooms," Michael agreed. "But people take up a lot of room. Need space. It wouldn't work." He turned the pilot off and moved the pan. "This is only temporary, anyway. You'll be back home tomorrow." He set Cameron on the counter and began searching for mugs.

Cameron made a whimpering sound. "But... but I want to stay with you."

That made him pause and look at Cameron.

Bit tears were in the tired eyes. His lower lip was trembling and he now clutched at the fish with both arms.

Ah, crap.

"Cameron... I'll just be right across the street. You'll see me a lot."

"But I'm not allowed to cross the street by myself!" His voice rose in a shriek.

God dammit.

Michael abandoned the milk and picked Cameron back up. Holding him tightly in his arms, Michael went back to the living room. Cameron's blanket was spread across the floor. Michael picked it up and draped it over the two of the.

Cameron, way over tired, was sobbing against Michael's chest. "Why can't I stay with you?" he asked, tears soaking into Michael's shirt.

He sighed and rubbed Cameron's back. The conversation felt eerily similar. Back when he'd started college, when LJ had been a tiny kid, they'd had a similar conversation. When he'd told LJ that Lincoln would still be around, LJ had begged him to stay and be his daddy. To make Lincoln go to college and Michael could stay.

But that was different. Michael had no idea what Cameron wanted from him. And it was just across the street.

Of course, it was the middle of the night and Cameron was exhausted.

So, instead of trying to reason with Cameron, he just said, "We'll work something out, okay? It's going to be fine."

Cameron wiped his nose on Michael's shirt. "Maybe... maybe I could marry you and then we can live together."

He swallowed back a smile. "But, if I marry you, then I can't marry your dad. You're only allowed to be married to one person."

"But Daddy and Mom were married, and now they're not. So we can be married until Daddy gets out." Big brown eyes gazed hopefully up at him.

"Cameron... you're too young. They won't let us get married."

His face crumpled. "But I love you!"

He sighed. "I love you too."

"So marry me!"

Logic wasn't going to work, he reminded himself again. But, of course, he couldn't agree to make the tears go away. One thing he'd learned early on: never promise a screaming kid anything you couldn't deliver. They remembered everything.

So, he just laid back on the couch, keeping Cameron against him. "It's too late to talk about this, Cameron. Why don't we go to sleep."

"Not tired."

"I am." He pulled the blanket further around them, then reached back to pull a cushion under his head. Once comfortable, he rubbed soothing circles on Cameron's back again and closed his eyes.

Soft lips pressed under his chin. Then his cheek and nose and lips. Again and again and then Cameron whispered, "I love you, Uncle Mike."

He didn't respond. The best way to get LJ to sleep had been to pretend he already was. Maybe it would work for Cameron. So he kept his eyes closed and breathed steadily.

Cameron kissed him one more time, then lay his head on Michael's chest. In about five minutes, soft, sleepy sighs escaped his mouth with soothing regularity. A few minutes later, Michael followed Cameron's example and finally drifted off to sleep.


	59. Chapter 59

The next morning, Michael was snapped awake--pun intended--by the insistent clicking of a camera. When he opened his eyes, he found Pam standing above, camera in hand, smile on her face.

"Sorry," she whispered, taking another picture. "Didn't mean to wake you."

He gave her a wry smile. "I sorta knew this was going to happen." He yawned, then very carefully shifted Cameron off him and onto the couch.

The little boy's face scrunched, but then he settled back into a deep sleep.

Michael stretched the kinks out of his back. If he hadn't spent the last seven months sleeping on a mattress stretched over inadequate wiring, squished in a small space with a full grown man, he'd feel worse. But his body was used to contortions by now, so the couch--which was much more luxurious than his bunk back at the prison--was nothing.

"Lincoln's making blueberry pancakes," Pam said, turning the camera off. "They should be ready soon."

"Okay." He rubbed his eyes. "Is the press still camped out on the lawn?"

"There's a few, waiting to see what you do today. If you're interested, we got a copy of every newspaper we could find to see what they said. And we've been watching the news. Oh, and your agent said she'd call today. Start setting things up for you."

"Great." He rubbed his face again, then nodded at the stairs. "I need to wash up."

She nodded, then bent over Cameron, pulling a blanket over him. "Of course."

Michael moved quickly upstairs to the bathroom. As he passed LJ's room, he heard soft music playing; he remembered Lincoln saying that, lately, LJ had taken to playing music all night. For awhile, he'd kept setting his old clock radio to wake him up, but that wasn't working anymore. Now, he had one of those old fashion bell alarm clocks, which was fine, except sometimes he set it wrong, waking Lincoln up in the middle of the night.

Luckily, Michael's room was another door down from Lincoln's. With any luck, he wouldn't be woken by a mis-set clock; once he was woken in the middle of the night, it took him forever to get to sleep. Of course, he had to actually get to sleep first which, unless he spent the next few days camped out on the couch with Cameron, didn't look too likely.

He showered, shaved, and brushed his teeth. Even though he was hungry and pancakes were beckoning, he couldn't help but linger in the shower. Lean into the warm--warm, not lukewarm--spray and rest his hands against the clean--not mildew stained, but clean--tile. He luxuriated in the privacy and the ability to really was and allow his hands to linger on his body without fear of being whistled or leered at. His fingers traced the lines of the tattoos and skittered over scars and his mind was... blissfully blank. Calm and content and at peace with being alone with his body for the first time in a long time.

Clean and relaxed, he dressed and went downstairs for breakfast.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," his brother greeted him with a grin. He pulled a plate piled with pancakes from the oven. "Enjoy your shower?"

"Yes. Now I understand why you always camped out in the bathroom when you got out of jail when we were kids." He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the table. "Never got that before."

"You showered at the hotel," Lincoln pointed out.

Michael rolled his eyes. "The last shower before allowing yourself to be taken back to prison isn't the same."

Lincoln nodded. "True." He passed Michael a plate.

"Thanks." He concentrated on eating, not remembering the last time he'd been so hungry. Even when the food had been good at the prison--which it had, on occasion--it'd never been this good. And he'd never had the appetite for it, either, no matter what the taste. Now that he was free, his appetite was back.

"So. How did you end up with Cameron on the couch?" Pam asked, stirring sugar into her coffee. "I almost expected him to find you upstairs, but you down here with him took me by surprise."

"I couldn't sleep," he answered. He reached for more pancakes and rolled his eyes at Lincoln's smile. Yeah, he got it; he was too thin. He heard it enough from Alex and his doctors. Lincoln didn't need to get on the act, too. "I came downstairs for some milk and he was here. He, uh. He had a little meltdown."

Pam grimaced. "He does that when he wakes up at night. The tiniest things set him off. What got him going?"

"He was upset that he and I won't be living in the same house."

Lincoln snorted and said, "Well, he does want to marry you."

"Oh, I know. He suggested we get married last night. At least until Alex gets out of jail. That way, we can live together."

"God, he's got such a crush on you. It's adorable," Pam said, "if a little worrying." She sighed. "He's going to get his little heart broken."

"I'm sure he'll be fine." Michael shifted uncomfortably and ate another bite of his pancakes. "I, uh, pointed out that I'm just across the street. That he could visit me, you know. Whenever he wanted. He said he wasn't allowed to cross the street, and I was thinking..."

"He's allowed to cross the street," she interrupted. "He just won't."

Michael frowned and looked at Lincoln.

"The accident," he said.

Right.

Pam sighed. "When he was hit by the car, he wasn't even crossing the street. Not exactly. He'd been playing in the yard, kicking the soccer ball against the garage. The ball got away from him and rolled into the street. He told me, I was just in the kitchen and could see him through the window. I said... I said it was okay for him to get it. It was just across the street, and cars never came down. I watched him as he looked both ways and went across. Picked up the ball, turned. Looked again and then... it was clear, he stepped out, started walking and this Goddamn car came out of nowhere." Her hand tightened around her coffee mug, knuckles turning white. "And he thought it was his fault. That Alex and I would be angry with him."

Lincoln gently pulled her hand away off the mug and squeezed it. She gave him an embarrassed and grateful smile, then closed her eyes and sighed.

Michael swallowed. He felt like such an intruder. He shouldn't be here. This was Lincoln and Pam's space. He didn't belong.

The phone rang behind Michael. He quickly looked up at the clock. After nine. Alex would be free to get to a phone, and they hadn't gotten a chance to talk last night.

He reached and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

There was a momentary hesitation before the man on the other end said, "Um. Michael?"

Damn. Not Alex. Probably a reporter or something.

"May I ask who's calling?"

Another hesitation, then, "Baby doll? Is that you?"

Michael frowned. It couldn't be. But, then, no one else called him that, so... "Ricky?"

"Yeah. You okay? I saw you on the news yesterday, and you didn't look good. You looked pale and upset."

Jesus Christ. "Well, I had to leave the man I love behind in prison. I was upset."

"Well, yeah, but... Are you okay? I mean, you're not going to do anything stupid, right?"

"No, I'm not. How did you get this number, anyway?"

He could hear the disbelief on the other end of the phone. Then, there was an admonishing, "Baby doll."

Right. Mob.

"Who is that?" Lincoln asked, hand still in Pam's.

"Ricky Esposito," Michael answered. He rose and walked into the dining room next to the kitchen, wanting some privacy. "I'm fine, Ricky. It's a rough adjustment, but I'll be fine."

"How'd you sleep last night?"

"Um. Took me a bit, but I managed."

"Try some warm milk with, like, bourbon or something in it. It'll help you slip right to sleep."

He snorted. "Yeah, well. Thanks for the tip." He sat down. "I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to say good-bye to you. Everything happened so quickly."

"It's okay. Dr. Parsons gave your message to me. I just, you know. Was worried. Wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine. I'll be better when things calm down, but I'm fine right now." He swallowed. "Uh. How are you?"

"Okay. I hate it here."

"Prison in general, or the psych ward specifically?"

"The second. Everyone hates prison. The psych ward is killing me. They're all drugged or assholes. And I fucking hate pedophiles, man. And that fucking epileptic pedo just won't shut the fuck up." He snorted. "Course, after I busted my knuckles on his face, I didn't have to see him so much anymore. Taught him to keep away from me."

Michael rolled his eyes, but refrained from saying anything. After listening to that asshole, Michael knew how Ricky felt. "You think they're going to let you out?"

"Don't know. Where would they put me? Don't want to go back to Gen Pop and I can't go to protective seg. I'm pretty much screwed."

"Why don't you want to go back to Gen Pop?"

He sighed. "'cause I have a reputation to maintain there and I don't really care to live up to it."

"I'm sure no one would care. Just, you know. Be yourself."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. Look, Paul seems... he seems mostly concerned with you being safe. He doesn't care how you act, just that you're happy. He won't care, and he seemed to be in charge of your gang in prison."

"After Nicky," Ricky said glumly. "I can't figure Paul out. He's got a girl on the outside. But when he comes and sees me, he acts... I don't know."

Michael swallowed uncomfortably. Tapped his fingers on the table. "Well. He wants you happy. You're special. So he'll do what he can to make sure your spirits are up."

"Yeah, but, it's not like he just touches me and gets me off and stuff. He's kissing me. Holding me. And I like it. But I don't get it. He's not gay, but he won't talk about it, won't talk about Theresa with me, and he just... I'm confused."

Why him? Of all the people in the world, why did Ricky have to come to him for this? Michael wasn't exactly an expert at relationships and he really didn't understand Paul at all.

Of course, Ricky really didn't have anyone. After everything he'd gone through with Nicky, he was probably feeling alienated from his family as it was. Add on the gay thing, and the mafia members can't be gay, there was no one else he could turn to.

So, he sighed, pressed his palm against the table, and said, "I got punched by Paul for asking if he was in love with you. But what he did, what he tried to do to get to you... You don't do that just because you care about someone. It's got to come from a deeper level. You understand?"

"Really?"

"I could be wrong. And the thing is, unless Paul's willing to admit that he does love you, I think you're going to get your heart broken."

"Again."

Michael bit his lip, then pressed on, "So. You can either keep taking whatever he can give you, or cut out now."

Silence. Then, "What should I do?"

"I'm not..." The phone beeped, indicating another call. "I'm not sure. Hang on a sec; I've got another call." He switched over. "Hello?"

"Hey, Michael," Alex said, sounding tired.

"Hey. Hang on a second." He flipped back over. "Ricky, I've got to go."

"That FBI on the other line?"

"Yeah. We can talk later. Call me anytime."

"Will you visit me?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, but nodded. "Yeah, of course. We'll set up a day."

"Thanks. Love you, baby doll."

"Take care." He flipped back over. "Alex. How are you?"

"Good. Okay."

"So. Bad and depressed."

He laughed. "I'm better now that I'm talking to you."

"Me, too. Did you sleep last night?"

"Not really. Bed was too big. Too empty. I doubt I'm going to sleep tonight, either. I'm getting a new cell mate."

Michael closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, babe. You belong out there, okay? Don't... Just don't."

"I know, but... I also know how hard it is to adjust to a new cell mate." He pressed his hand against his eye. "Can't they, I don't know. Put you in with Randall or O'Connell? Or Travis?"

"You'd trust Travis?"

"Yeah. He promised me that he'd never try anything with you, and I trust his promise."

"When did you elicit this promise? I saw it on the note you tucked in his math book, but..."

"He wasn't supposed to show you that."

"It's Travis. And speaking of things that I have of you, I need a picture of you."

"Have you forgotten my face already?" he asked, smiling.

"Smartass. No, I could never forget your face. It's burned in my memory forever." His voice dropped an octave. "From the first moment I saw you in the flesh, you were forever a part of me. I was never going to forget it."

Michael shifted. "Alex," he whispered raggedly.

Alex cleared his throat a couple times. "Sorry. I just miss you so much."

"I miss you, too."

"I watched you on the news yesterday. I saw you with those kids. Kids you mentored?"

"Yeah. They call came out to see me. They'd written before, but to actually see them there... God, I'm so proud of them."

"You should be. You've done so much good."

"Not enough," Michael said, a could of gloom settling over him. "At least not enough to make up for the bad I've done. God, Alex, I don't know what I'm going to do."

"You'll do better out there than in here. You'll have the opportunity to actually make up for what you did, for the damage you caused, through good works instead of time paid. Think of it like that."

He sniffed. "I'll have to start at home. Last night, LJ told me something that happened to him while he was in prison. There was this guard who harassed him sexually, and he's messed up with that now. And it's all my fault."

There was a pause, then a heavy sigh on Alex's side. "My fault, too."

"Not really."

"Michael. I had a hand in what prison he was sent to, what level of security. I couldn't guess what would happen, but... is LJ okay?"

"Mostly. But he's never told anyone about it before. Guess he was waiting for me. So now I have a project. Two."

"What's the other?"

"Help Cameron get enough confidence to cross the street again. Last night, he threw a fit when he found out that we wouldn't be living together. When I pointed out it was just across the street, that made it worse." He hesitated, then added with a smile, "He wants to marry me."

"He better get in line."

"I don't know. He's a free man. Boy. Could make an honest man of me. I think I'm tempted."

Alex laughed. "Well, then, I better work on getting out of here before my son usurps my place. And before I waste away from missing you."

There was a soft beep on the phone, and Alex sighed. "Five more minutes."

"You can call me later."

"I might. This evening, after dinner."

"I'll be here. My agent is supposed to come by later. You know, to arrange interviews and things. I'll try to contact my lawyer. Pam has the number for yours, right?"

"She does."

"I'll call him, too. See what we can do." He licked his lips and said, "I'm hoping that, maybe, my agent will be able to get me to the White House or something. I mean, right now, I'm the most famous man in America, right? Surely that might get the President to meet me, if even for a minute so I can thank him."

"I think I saw yesterday on the news that he wanted to speak with you, so, yes, I'm sure someone can set that up."

"Good. Then, I just hope I'll be able to get him to listen to me about you."

"From what I remembered, you almost convinced the last president to pardon you and your brother. Sadly, she resigned."

Michael sighed. "And then was assassinated. By the company."

"Not your fault."

Two beeps sounded. One minute.

"I love you, Michael," Alex said. "You take care of yourself."

"Same to you. Don't forget to eat. And exercise. And go out in the yard and get sun while it's still warm. And... and I love you."

"I'll see you on Saturday. And talk to you soon."

"Okay."

"Don't forget. A picture. Of you not in prison attire."

He smiled. "Of course."

There was a series of clicks.

"Bye, Michael."

"Bye." The phone went dead.

Michael sighed and pressed the power button on the phone before setting it down. Then, he lay his head next to it. A wave of loneliness, of longing washed over him. Threatened to drown him. Very suddenly, he was exhausted and depressed. He wanted nothing more than to go upstairs to his unfamiliar room, crawl into the unfamiliar bed, and give way to very familiar sleep.

A hand settled on his shoulder. Squeezed. "Michael. Come back to breakfast."

"I don't really feel like it, Linc. I think I'm going to go upstairs and read or something."

"No. Come to breakfast. Force yourself. You'll feel better in the long run." He squeezed Michael's shoulder again and said, "Dr. Brighton told me not to let you isolate yourself too much."

He sighed and sat up. "Fine." Michael rubbed his eyes and looked up at his brother. "You, me, and LJ need to see Dr. Brighton, by the way. As soon as we can."

Lincoln frowned. "Why?"

"We just do."

"He's got an appointment tomorrow. So do you."

"And today?"

"I thought we'd try to go shopping. Or at least out to lunch. There's hundreds of restaurants calling, asking if you'd patronize them. I figure, it'll get you out of the house. Will help you feel a bit more normal."

It sounded awful, but what was he to do? He really couldn't keep himself cooped up. He was free now. He had to be allowed to live, right?

So, he forced a wan smile. "Sounds good, Linc."

"Where's Uncle Mike?" he heard Cameron ask from the next room.

The smile turned real. "I'm in here, Cameron."

There was the sound of feet on tile, the Cameron burst into the dining room and threw himself on Michael's lap. "Good morning!"

Michael stood, bringing Cameron up with him. "Morning, Cameron. Sleep well?"

Cameron blushed and nodded enthusiastically. "Lincoln made pancakes. They're good. Are you hungry?"

He thought about it, then nodded. "You know what? I think I am."

Cameron bounced a few times in his arms. "Then let's go eat. I'm starving."

"All right. Let's go get breakfast."


	60. Chapter 60

The first full day without Michael was something of a shock to Alex. Without him around, time dragged. Worse, the routine he'd become so used to, so dependant on, was disrupted. Everything he did, he had to relearn. There was no one to talk in the morning before breakfast. No one to hand him sugar for his coffee, no one to accept the salt he absentmindedly held out. He found himself missing Michael's presences next to him, feeling him there like a phantom limb, only to be continually surprised when he wasn't.

And he couldn't remember how he'd filled his time before Michael. He vaguely remembered reading a lot and playing chess and checkers with Randall and O'Donnell. Going to whatever class he'd signed up for and anger management and his psychologist. He remembered being bored. And while the boredom hadn't gone away after Michael arrived, his days had still felt fuller. More meaningful.

Ten years without Michael beside him. Christ.

He'd experienced the same kind of disconnect when Travis had been taken away. Prison life was built on habit and routine, and remove one person--especially one upon whom one's whole routine was built--and it all fell apart.

He was depressed now. Nothing at all like when Travis had left. Back then, he'd been nervous. Trepidations about the future. Now, he couldn't work up the energy to be nervous about his neck cellmate. Couldn't imagine what his future might be.

Someone sighed. Footsteps sounded on the concrete floor of his cell. Just two days ago, Michael had suggested they get a throw rug or something. Muffle the sounds, add some color. Alex had agreed, as he agreed to most everything that might make Michael happy.

They hadn't gotten around to putting in the order with the commissary. He probably wouldn't.

The mattress shifted. "You can't do this to yourself, Alex. It's not good." Randall.

"I'm fine. Tired, that's all."

"Yesterday, you were tired. Today, you're wallowing."

"I'm not wallowing." He rubbed his forehead. "I have a headache."

"Right. A headache." A hand on his shin. "You should go outside. It's a nice day. Not too many left, not like this."

"Maybe later."

Another sighed. "For Christ's sake." The hand fell away. "You have to pull yourself together. Michael is coming tomorrow. You can't go from this to happy and back without eventually crashing. Or needing help to keep it up." The mattress shifted. "And you have a history."

"Please go away."

But he didn't. Randall continued to sit on the end of Alex's bed. And then he started talking again. "My mom died when I was eleven. And my dad couldn't deal with it. I mean, it was hard enough for me to deal with the fact she was gone, but he completely fell apart. Just... stopped. Spent all his time in the garage, drinking. About two years later, he drank himself into the grave."

"I'm not drinking and Michael's not dead."

"You're acting like he is."

He pressed his hand against his head. Thumb against the throbbing vein in his temple, jaw twitching. "I miss him," he said. His voice betrayed him, cracking.

"Not doing anything is just going to make you miss him more. Your mind doesn't have anything to distract it. So you focus on him and where he should be. You need to find a new routine."

"I know."

"I know you know. Now, come on. Let's go outside or go to the rec room or something. I hear they got a couple of gay guys on some soap opera. Something you can relate to."

"Fuck you, Randall." But he said it without any heat. With a soft groan, he sat up. Winced as his brain shifted and slammed into the other side of his head. Pressed his thumb against the new temple. "Okay. Maybe a walk."

Randall grinned and got up from the bed. He waited at the opening of the cell until Alex grabbed a pair of cheap sunglasses.

"Fresh air will do you good," Randall said. He punched Alex in the arm then led the way.

"Did Michael put you up to this? I already know that he's asked Travis to keep an eye on me and make sure I'm okay."

"Travis? He asked Travis to look after you? Is he crazy?"

Alex shook his head. "Naw, he's just trusting. And manipulative. He managed to make Travis feel like he owes Michael something, so now he'll do whatever Michael asks of him."

"Travis does owe Michael something. Michael didn't skin the kid alive after all the crap he pulled. And he tutored him."

They stepped into the yard, into the sunlight. Alex closed his eyes and tipped his head back. A slight breeze was blowing. It was a nice day, despite everything. Alex would almost prefer it rain.

"You didn't answer my question. Did Michael tell you to look out for me?"

"As a matter of fact, no. I do consider you my friend, Alex. And I know this is hard on you. I'm just looking out for you."

Alex glanced over at him. Randall was looking off into the distance, face composed and blank.

"Oh." Alex licked his bottom lip. "Sorry I.... I just assumed. You and O'Connell usually kept to yourself and..."

"Back in Gen Pop, yeah. We've been playing this game too long to want to stick our necks out, that's all. Maybe it ain't right. I mean, what you did for Travis was... it was something I've never seen anytime in prison. And look at the kid now. He's happy and adjusted and, well. Not getting raped every other day. Because of you." He glanced at Alex. Shrugged. "I admire the hell out of you, Alex."

His cheeks warmed. "Really, Randall. I didn't do anything."

"Course not." He rolled his eyes. "I watched that kid get run through the ringer for nearly six months before you came. Never did a thing about it. O'Connell stuck his neck out a little. Helped clean the kid up after. Bought him stuff from the commissary. Kid's got no family, but I guess you know that. No real money, so O'Connell got him treats and stuff. Me, I just ignored him. If he was around, I talked, but otherwise, I turned a blind eye. I was more concerned with keeping myself safe and not getting involved with a turf war. You just stuck yourself in the middle of it without second thought."

"And I spent nearly six months paying for my actions."

"But you still did it."

Alex shrugged. "I killed a kid about his age. In cold blood." His head twinged and he pressed his thumb against his temple once more. "I have a lot to make up for."

"That don't change the fact you did it. I mean, you're here to make up for what you did, and..."

"Alex! Visitor!" a guard called. He waved at Alex.

Alex pushed away from the wall. "Thanks for the walk."

"No problem, Alex. I'm going to be keeping an eye out for you, so don't think you can sneak back into your cell when you're done."

He smiled and said, "No sneaking. I promise." He went back to the prison.

"You made me lose five bucks, FBI," the guard said as he waved Alex inside. "I bet you wouldn't be outta your cell for anything but meals for two more days."

"Sorry to disappoint you," he said, rolling his eyes behind his glasses. He slipped them off and into his pocket.

Another guard was waiting to escort him to the visitor room. To his disappointment, he was taken to the private rooms rather than the general visiting area. There was still a slight chance they'd put Michael in there to avoid a crowd, but that slight hope was killed when Wheeler stood as Alex was let inside the room.

"David. Hi."

Wheeler smiled. "You might sound a little more disappointed, but I'm not sure how."

"Sorry. I was just hoping.... It's good to see you." He sat at the table, running a hand over his hair.

"You were hoping I was Michael. I figured you'd be waiting for him. If he's coming..."

"No. He's not coming until Saturday." He shrugged. "We figured it'd be best if he had a few days to settle in. Get whatever interviews he wanted to do out of the way. Get some sleep."

"I imagine he's getting all kinds of interview offers. His brother was on quite a few talk shows and such after everything happened. And Michael's the one who designed the break."

"Really? Didn't know that."

Wheeler gave him a small smile. "How are you doing?"

"Fantastic." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Not only do I feel like crap, but I've got a whole ward full of people watching every move I make."

"It's not a ward. Not a mental hospital."

"I feel like I'm in one." He rubbed his temple. "So. What's life like in the real world?"

He nodded. "Good. I got a promotion. Am keeping busy." He cleared his throat. "I'm dating."

"You have time?"

"You had time for marriage and a kid. It's not impossible to make it work with this job."

"Guess not. You've never tried before. In fact, if I remember, when I asked in the past, you told me that the job took everything and you didn't have enough to give someone else."

Color bloomed on Wheeler's cheeks. He removed his glasses, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to clean them. "Well, uh," he said, clearing his throat. "Um, well. I hadn't met... uh, I only just..." He slipped his glasses back on and smiled helplessly. "You know how everything changes when you meet that one who makes you want to give more."

He couldn't help return the smile. It'd been like that with Pam. He'd come out of the army exhausted and faintly sickened by what he'd had to do. Gone to college, urged by an acquaintance in the FBI to pursue criminal justice, and basically floated. Not existed, not wanted to.

And then, Pam. Beautiful, brilliant, and so patient. Able and willing to pull Alex out of his funk and push him back to real life. She'd been perfect.

"What's she like?" he asked.

The color in his cheeks deepened. "Uh. Um. Well, she's smart. Really smart. Smarter than me. And." He cleared his throat. "She's pretty. Gorgeous. She has this hair. It's... um. And red. And it's... But she's tough, too. Been through a lot and has this view of the world. Even with everything, she still sees the... Possibilities, but anyway." He shifted in his seat. Tapped his fingers on the table. "Oh, and she's really caring. Very compassionate. "

"What's she do?"

He cleared his throat. Shifted. Took his glasses off again and cleaned them. "She's a..." He cleared his throat. "Um, she's..." The glasses went back on. Wheeler frowned down at something in his lap. "She's a, uh, uh... a doctor."

Alex looked at him. Watched Wheeler squirm in his seat.

The clues clicked and he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "Are you dating Sara Tancredi by any chance?"

Wheeler cleared his throat again. "Do you think this is going to be a problem? I mean, I know Michael and Sara were... had a thing or something."

"And you're such good friends with my fiancee that you dating his... whatever she is will be a problem."

"I'm going to have to talk to him. About... about you. And you did say I could go to the wedding. I assumed that meant I could take a date."

"Of course you can take a date, if I'm even out of here. If I'm not, you probably won't be able to come because, between my family and Michael's, we fill up the allotted amount of visitors per day." He dropped his hands. "Sara Tancredi?"

His entire face was a deep red. "It's just sort of... happened. We were leaving the prison at the same time. I asked if she wanted to get some coffee. I don't know..." He closed his eyes. "She's so beautiful."

"And she said yes." Alex gave Wheeler a half-smile. "I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but you are handsome."

Poor Wheeler squeezed his eyes shut. "Um. Thanks."

"So. Is she still in California?"

"For now. She's going to be moving back in a month or two. She got a job at a clinic." A fond smile crossed his face. "All she wants to do is work where she feels she can make a difference. Private practice, or even a job at a hospital isn't what she wants. She likes being where she's helping those who need it the most."

Alex smiled wryly. "Sounds like someone I know."

Wheeler looked at him with a little frown, but Alex just shook his head.

"Never mind. So. Is she moving in with you when she moves back?"

"We've talked about it. But we don't want to move too quickly." His frown suddenly deepened. "This isn't why I'm here."

"I know. I was just asking how you were and it came up." He could tell Wheeler was uncomfortable and graciously let it drop. Sitting up straighter, he said, "I'm guessing you have a more official reason since we're back here rather than the common visiting room."

Relief flashed across his face. "Yeah, I do. I'm trying to track down what happened to your commutation paperwork. You have copies of it, right?"

"Of course. The warden has one and my lawyer has another."

"I'd like you to resubmit it. I'd also like to get a copy for myself. Of everything: the petition, the letters of recommendation, everything. I've got some contacts in the White House and I'm planning on going out to DC in a couple weeks. Thought that while I was there, I might as well try to see if I could help you."

"Thank you. I appreciate that." He furrowed his brow. "Do you think something happened to my paperwork?"

"I think it's possible," Wheeler said with a shrug. "It's strange that the president would pardon Michael and not say anything about you... unless he didn't have the documentation to support a commutation. Because, let's face it, Alex. You're not getting pardon."

"I'm not asking for one."

"I know. But Michael didn't ask for one, either. It's just that the president decided he deserved one, at least in light of all the political pressure. Because of what happened with Lincoln, because of all the protests and petitions, the president was able to act without actually reading Michael's petition. But I understand why he'd want to make sure he actually signed yours. I think he hasn't gotten it yet."

"So it's stuck in the system?"

"Either that or someone's holding it up."

Alex raised his eyebrows.

Wheeler shrugged. "A conspiracy helped get you here, Alex. Just because we ferreted out a lot of it doesn't mean everyone is gone." He cleared his throat. "And, uh. Even if we did, or even if this isn't the Company, you did manage to piss people off. People with influence."

He sighed. Rubbed his temples as his head throbbed again. "I'm not getting out of here before my sentence is up."

"I don't know. But I'll do what I can to get you out. The prison system has enough people in here. We don't need to lock up a good man too."

Wheeler stayed for a little bit longer before he had to go. By the time he left, Alex's headache was so bad his eyes were watering and he was getting strange visual distortions at the edges of his vision.

"You okay?" the guard asked Alex after he stumbled into the wall.

"I have a migraine."

That resulted in a trip to the infirmary, where he received a lecture on relaxation and not moping from Dr. Parsons. Then, he was led back to his cell, where he found his new cellmate.

"Sammy?" he said incredulously.

Sammy was sitting at the small table across from the bunk. Travis was across from him, O'Connell and Randall leaning against the bunk.

Sammy gave Alex a wan smile. "Hey, FBI. How's it going?"

He blinked. Rubbed his eyes. "You look like shit."

O'Connell snorted. "You don't look much better there yourself."

"Yeah, well, I feel like shit. And I'll be passing out in about ten minutes, too, just to warn you all." He hoisted himself onto his bunk and rubbed his eyes again.

"You okay?" Travis asked anxiously.

"I'm fine. I have a migraine, that's all." He laid back and closed his eyes. "How'd you get in here, Sammy?"

"I overdosed a few months back. I've been in the infirmary for almost that long. I'm going straight now. No drugs, no nothing. So, they said as long as I stick to that, I can stay in here."

Great. A recovered drug addict in his cell while Alex was battling his own drug demons. "How far out of recovery are you?"

There was a silence. Then, "I'm good. I have my days, but. You know."

He sighed. "Too well." Especially lately. Not that he was going to tell anyone that. Of course, even though he had his moments of craving for the submerged serenity midazolam brought, he wasn't going to take anything. It wasn't worth it.

A wave of heavy sleepiness washed over him. He blinked.

"Glad you're here. The gang didn't seem the same without you."

Sammy laughed. "Yeah, I bet. Sorry I missed Blueprints."

"Put him." Talking was getting difficult. All he wanted to do was pull the blankets over his head and sleep. "Put him on your. On your visitor's list. He'll come see if you if he has time."

"I need to talk to him at any rate. You know, apologize to him. For getting him high that one time."

He laughed. "Forgot about that." God, he was so heavy. It was like being drunk, only not. The pain in his head wasn't lessening so much as... disengaging. Moving farther away so Alex could observe it. Study it impassively and then dismiss it.

"Guess I should ask your forgiveness, too."

There was a long silence.

"Alex?" Randall put a hand on his shin.

He sniffed. Jerked back towards consciousness. Blinked. "Sorry, what?" The last words spoken processed. "Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I forgive you, Sammy." He tried to lift his head, but it was too heavy.

"I think we should probably go." Randall's voice. He squeezed Alex's shin. "Get some sleep, Alex."

Alex tried to respond, but he was already drifting away from everything.


	61. Chapter 61

The soft creak woke Michael immediately, pulling him from the deep, dark well of his dreams. He consciousness hovered just under his skin as he took stock: soft sheets, comfortable mattress. Space to stretch out. A comfortable, lightly floral scent from the fabric softener. A light breeze across his face.

Home. Sort of. Lincoln's home, but close enough. Linc kept trying to insist Michael was home, that this was Michael's home, but the only one he was convincing was himself. Michael knew. This wasn't his home. This was a place he was staying until he found his home again.

There was a soft sound of fabric rustling. Michael stretched his back, waiting. They last couple nights he'd had visitors in his room. Cameron had snuck in the second night and slept curled against his chest. LJ had come last night; after he'd confessed what'd happened to him at the prison to Linc and Dr. Brighton, he'd needed comfort. Linc had stood in his doorway for a few minutes every night, like he was checking to make sure Michael hadn't disappeared.

Besides. He was tired. And it wasn't like he didn't appreciate the company; after spending months and months crammed in a small cot with Alex, the bed occasionally felt too big.

Covers were pulled aside. The mattress dipped.

"You okay?" Michael asked.

A weight settled on him. "I'm fine, baby," a soft voice purred.

"Shit!" Michael swore. He shot up, but was pushed back down onto the pillows.

Sofia Prince, a very naked Sofia Prince, leaned over him. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders, brushed against Michael's chest. Her lips were dark and wet with lipstick and her eyes glittered darkly in the light that shone from outside.

"Michael." She bent forward and pressed a kiss to his mouth. "We've waited so long and now we're together. I can't believe it." She moved again to kiss him.

A flare of panic went through Michael. He pushed her. Scrambled away from her. "Lincoln!" he shouted. The mattress ended abruptly and he fell off, hitting the ground.

"Michael! Michael, what's wrong?"

"You shouldn't be here, Sofia. You can't just break into my room and... and..."

"But we belong together." She hung over the edge of the bed, looking down at her. Her eyes were wide and innocent. Crazy. "I told you I'd save you. I'm here now, here for you." She crawled over the edge and lowered herself onto his body. "You're free to be with me now." She climbed off the bed and came to him.

"No." He caught her hands as they tried to sneak under shirt. "No, no, Sofia, there's not... I'm not ... I don't want you." He pushed at her, but she fought him and he couldn't get her off.

"That's prison talking." She was strong, determined. One hand got free and she tugged his shirt up. Her mouth was on his face, his neck. Breasts pressed against him, thighs squeezing, bottom writhing on his lap. "That's that horrible Mahoney talking. Not you Michael." She kissed him again. "You and I are meant to be together. I've known since the moment I first saw your face. Saw your soulful eyes." Slim fingers traced his eyebrows. "You're free now. Not being forced to service that awful man."

His heart pounded wildly. In the darkness, her small hands were huge and grasping. Her soft body was hard and threatening.

No. No, he wasn't going to panic. He wasn't.

"Lincoln!" he shouted again, then shook his head. Taking her firmly by the hips, he pushed her back. "Look, you've got it all wrong, okay? You and I aren't... aren't anything. I don't even know you." He got to his feet. His legs were shaking.

"But I wrote you letters."

"I know. But that's not... that's not... I'm engaged."

"You can't marry a man! It's against the law! It's against nature. And..."

"What the hell is going on?" Lincoln demanded.

Sofia rose. "Go away. This is between Michael and me."

"Michael, who... Is this that stalker?"

"I'm not a stalker. Now go away and leave Michael and me alone. I just want to make him happy, can't you understand?"

"LJ, call 911!" Lincoln said, sticking his head out of the door. "Look, lady, you need to get away from my brother now." He grabbed her by the wrist.

"No!" Sofia shrieked. Her free hand connected with Lincoln's face hard enough to startle him.

He dropped her wrist and stepped back, rubbing his cheek.

"You can't keep us apart. Michael and I belong together," she shouted as she dug through her clothes on the floor.

Taking advantage of her distraction, Michael started to edge around her. Then, she shot back up, gun in hand.

"Shit!" Lincoln swore. His hands flew up, pacifing. "Look, lady..."

"No! No, don't..." She turned to Michael, gun pointed at him. "You belong with me, Michael. I've written you. I've told you everything, bared my soul. I'm here to save you, to give you back everything that was ever taken from you. You can't let them separate us. Please."

God. Oh Godohgodohgod. Think, Michael. Do something ... clever!

He swallowed. Took a hesitant step forward. "Sofia. Uh, honey. Put the gun down. Okay? Just, put it down and we'll talk. We'll sit down and have a nice talk."

"No! I'm not going to let you tell me all about that man."

"We won't talk about him," Michael said quickly, shaking his head. "We'll talk about... about us. Our future. You know. Us."

Tears poured down her face, streaking black globs of mascara down her cheeks. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah." He took a hesitant step forward. "Yeah. Like, you know. Where we'll live. Wedding plans."

"You love me?"

"Of course I do. How could I not? I mean... all those letters. The pictures." Carefully, he held out his hand. "We'll just crawl back into bed and talk. Do whatever. But you have to give me the gun, Sofia."

She shook her head. "You're lying." Her hands tightened.

"No! No, I'm not lying. I was just confused. Half asleep. I wasn't thinking. Of course I want to be with you. We're meant to be together. But you can't kill me."

"I don't want to kill you."

"Then give me the gun." He held her eyes. Tried to smile reassuringly, make himself look innocent. Alluring. In love.

She blinked rapidly, tears pouring down her face. The gun trembled. Loosened.

And then sirens screeched outside. "Police!" a voice shouted, echoing upstairs.

Sofia stiffened. "What..." She turned.

There was a loud bang. Glass shattered.

Michael threw himself at Sofia, tackling her to the ground. His ears rang and everything sounded far away. His eyes watered and he could feel Sofia smacking him, writhing underneath him.

From a long way away, he could hear his voice being called. There were hands on his shoulders, pulling him back. His left arm stung and he jerked away. Everything was too loud, but when he put his hands over his ears, the noise didn't get any better. The floor shook and there were boots. Then bare feet and he looked up and could see Lincoln saying something. Saying his name and he couldn't understand, couldn't hear. The room was spinning faster and faster and everything blended together and...


	62. Chapter 62

"Pick up," Alex growled as the phone rang for a third time. He twisted the cord around his finger, heart thundering. His foot tapped with ill contained nervous energy and he worried his bottom lip with his teeth.

The ring cut off midway. "Hello?"

"Cameron, it's Daddy. Put your mom on."

Immediately, there was a throaty whine across the line. "Daaaaaaddy! Uncle Mike gotted hurt and Mom won't take me to see him and I can't go to school cause there are reporters on the lawn and no one will tell me where Uncle Mike is! It's not fair and he needs me."

Oh, he loved his son, but for God's sake. "Put your mother on."

"But Daddy..."

"Cameron!"

He whined again. Started sobbing. "Mom!"

"Who is it?" he heard Pam ask.

"Daddy."

"Go wash your face."

"Don't wanna!"

"Don't argue with me, just do it! Then go to your room."

"You're mean and I hate you!" There was a loud bang. From further away, he heard, "I'm going to marry Uncle Mike and we're going to run away and I'm never talking to you again!" Another slam.

"I should only be so lucky," Alex heard her mutter. "Alex?"

"What's going on?"

"Michael's fine. Lincoln's going to take him to see you as soon as he's discharged."

"They said on the news he was shot. There was a break in? No one seems to know exactly what happened, and I'm..."

"I know, I'm sorry. Michael's fine. That stalker of his, Sofia something? She broke into the house last night. Climbed up the back and into his room. She had a gun, which she pulled on Lincoln when he interrupted her."

"She shot Michael?"

"Not really. She was startled and I guess accidentally squeezed the trigger. The bullet nicked his arm. He got something like five stitches. He barely lost any blood. The police were already there and one of them got pressure on it right away."

"Someone said he was unconscious."

"He fainted."

Some of the panic faded away. "He fainted?"

"It happens," she said, her voice soft. Amused. "He threw himself at her to get the gun away. Between the panic at finding her naked and on top of him to getting shot, I'd say it was enough to make him swoon."

Relief coursed through him, making his legs a little weak. He slid down to the seat next to the phone and leaned against the table. "The guards told me pretty much right away. Then made me wait until breakfast was over before I could call. I tried Lincoln, but he wasn't picking up."

"He's not? Do you have LJ's cell phone?"

"No. Does Michael have one yet?"

"No. He's getting one soon. As soon as we have time." She sighed. "This brought all the reporters back. We're all thrilled."

"I can tell Cameron is."

"Oh, don't get me started," she said, voice like ice. "He's been nothing but a brat all morning. And, he's got a cold, so he's got snot all over his face. His infatuation with Michael was cute at first, but now it's seriously pissing me off."

He cleared his throat. "Um. I'm sorry?"

Pam let out a long, slow breath. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "He's just worried and I'm just stressed. The press has realized who I am now, so they're paying just as much attention to us as Michael and Lincoln. I feel trapped in here. And I am trapped in here with a cranky, whiney kid who can't understand what's going on." She made a sound of distress. "Christ, Alex. The sirens woke him up and I was too busy on the phone with LJ to realize he was up. He was outside when they brought Michael out and he..."

"He'll be okay. As long as he knows Michael is fine, Cameron will be fine."

"I'm failing him. I feel like... like I'm exposing him to all this darkness and crap and completely screwing him up."

"You're not. Cameron is a great kid. He's smart and creative and outgoing. Look, maybe it sucks that right now, he can't go outside because the news is there, but without having met Lincoln, he wouldn't be in soccer. Or he would be, only he'd still be too afraid to really play. You've told me how Lincoln and LJ have done wonders for his confidence. And I've seen it."

She was crying; he could hear her sniffing. When she spoke, there were soft sobs in her voice. "I know. I know, he's.... But he still doesn't have that many friends at school. Or, at school is fine, but he doesn't get invited to play at anyone's houses or, if he does, he's saying no and not even telling me. All he wants to do is spend time with LJ and now Michael, and it's not healthy."

"It's still new. He'll adjust." He leaned his head back against the wall.

Travis, O'Connell, Sammy, and Randall were standing just outside the booth, looking in through the plastic paneling surrounding it. Identical expressions of worry were on all their faces.

He gave them a thumbs-up, then waved them away.

They didn't budge.

Alex rolled his eyes and turned his back to them. "Look, if anything is going to mess him up, it's me. I killed a guy and buried him in the backyard. I forced you to divorce me. I pissed an all powerful company off enough to hit him with a car. I got sent to jail and came to countless visitations with bruises, and I'm the one in the relationship with a man who's famous for pulling off a notorious prison break. That's what's going to screw him up, if anything. But, you know what? Even with all that, I think he's going to be okay. Because despite all the craziness, we're good people, Pam. Lincoln and LJ are good people and we all love Cameron like crazy. And want him to grow up and have a good life. He will."

"I hope so. I love him so much and I'm just so afraid that... that I'm failing him."

"I think everyone feels like that sometimes." He sighed. "I'm sorry I was such a rotten father. A rotten influence."

"You love him. And you're a good man. And, with any luck, you'll be out soon so you'll be there for him. Right across the street or... or wherever you and Michael decide you'll end up."

"I hope so," he said glumly. "You're coming on Saturday, right? Bringing him?"

"Of course. Wouldn't miss it."

"I'll talk to him. About this Michael thing. See if it helps."

She laughed. "I don't know; you're the rival. It might just make him angry."

"Yeah, well, little punk needs to back off. Michael is mine."

"Try telling him that. Yesterday..."

"Hang on," Alex said at the rap on the door. He turned to see Simms sticking his head into the small room.

"Michael's here."

He nodded. "Pam, I've got go. Michael's here. I'll call tonight, okay?"

"Okay. Love you."

"Love you, too." He hung up and rose. "How'd he look?"

Simms shook his head. "I didn't see him yet; they called me to let me know. It must not be bad if he's here, though, right?"

"I want to see him, too!" Travis said, trotting down the hall after them. "Can I come?"

Alex glanced back to see the whole crew following them.

"No," Simms said. "You know the rules. He's here for Alex, and the only reason he's getting in last minute is because the warden talked to Lincoln this morning and had it arranged. You want to see Michael, figure out a day and sign up."

"But this is special circumstances, boss," O'Connell said. "We don't all have to go out at once."

They made it to the door leading out of protective seg. Simms pulled out his security card, ran it though, and punched in the code. "Sorry, guys." He opened the door and pulled Alex though. "Kid's got friends."

"And stalkers. Fuck. You know, I was afraid something like this would happened. I should have said something. Should have insisted they get a security guard or something, at least for the first few weeks. But I didn't, and now... crap."

"He's fine."

"He might not have been."

"But, luckily, he is," Simms pointed out. They made it to the holding room, and Simms snagged the clipboard. "You can't always think of the worst thing that could happen, Alex. You get all wound up and forget the small picture."

"Don't you mean the bigger picture?"

"No, you're good at the bigger picture. But the smaller picture is that Michael's okay and he's here." Simms leaned against the door, blocking it. "You know how he can be. He needs you not to be panicked and pessimistic. Or angry at yourself."

Alex crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you done?"

He sighed. "Yeah. I'm done." He ran his card through the lock and punched in his code. "After you."

Alex pushed past Simms and into the room. There was a crowd at a table by the side window. He made his way to it, pushing through. "Move!" he snapped at the few people who'd beat him out to the visitor's room and the people waiting for their cons.

Michael was pressed against the window, face way too pale, eyes too big. He was smiling faintly, talking to some person in front of him, but when he saw Alex, he stopped talking. The false smile faded away and turned into something bigger. Truer. More beautiful.

"Hey," was all Alex could think to say. He tugged the person in front of Michael away and sank into his place. "Are you... how..."

It felt like it'd been years since they'd been together. Alex's hands shook as he reached out. Touched Michael's cheek, his neck.

Michael's eyes fell shut and he leaned closer. "Hey."

It was too much, too intimate, and there were too many people watching. His hands clenched, one on Michael's arm, the other in his shirt. He moved closer, kissed Michael. Pressed their lips together, and Michael's fell open, tongue drawing Alex in.

His chest hurt. He pulled back. Kissed Michael once again, softly. Rested their foreheads together. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Artists hands stroked Alex's neck, down his shoulders and arms. "I'm okay. Really."

"All anyone would tell me was that you were shot. That the news had you being wheeled out to the ambulance, but no one knew..."

"I heard you were shot in the head," someone said.

"The news said that you were shot twice, and hit over the head with a hammer."

"Did she really tattoo her name on your butt?"

Michael closed his eyes briefly, and let the comments wash over him. "I'm fine. Really." He kissed Alex before pulling away. Laced their fingers and leaned back against the wall. He looked exhausted, drained. "Sofia broke into my room. And she had a gun, because she's a crazy stalker freak. It went off by accident, that's all."

"And you fainted."

He smiled faintly. "And I fainted."

"That ain't how it really went down, is it?" someone asked. "Wasn't it, like, a couple, and they were going to kidnap you and keep you for ransom or something?"

Michael closed his eyes again. "Just the one, I'm afraid."

"But..."

"Look, guys, I'm going to move you," Simms said.

Alex turned.

Simms shrugged. "It's too much of a distraction out here. We need these rooms quiet, you know? So, up."

One of the rooms was way better than here, even if they were monitored (unless one was with his lawyer, of course). It wasn't as if he and Michael were going to do anything... at least nothing the guards hadn't already seen them do.

"Michael," Simms said once they were in the room. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks. Me, too." He gave Simms a crooked smile. "Sorry I haven't called you, yet, it's just been..."

"Michael, you've been out three days. I wasn't expecting anything for awhile."

He blushed. "Oh. Okay, then."

Simms smiled, then said, "I'll make sure they send your brother back here when he comes back. Okay?"

"Thank you."

"No problem." He pat Michael on the shoulder, then left.

Michael immediately pushed himself back into Alex's arms. There was no comfortable place to sit in the room, just the cold, uncomfortable plastic chairs that took up so much of the prison. In lieu of chairs, Alex sank to the floor, leaning against the wall.

"I miss you so much," Michael said, sighing all his tension away.

"Yeah." He stroked Michael's arm, moving up until he felt the bandage hidden under the long sleeves. Michael was still dressed in his pajamas: blue and red checked flannel pants and a green long-sleeved shirt. "Does your arm hurt?"

"A little. Throbs. But it's really not bad. Just a few stitches."

"Will it scar?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so."

Alex kissed Michael's ear. His neck. "You need to get a security guard."

"I know." He sighed. "The cops are going to hang out for awhile, but I know we need to get something. We're getting some threatening calls and stuff. I just never thought..."

"Of course not." He kissed Michael's temple. "Who wants to think that they're going to be stalked or attack in their own homes."

"Lincoln's home." Michael frowned. "An, actually, I pretty much assume I'll be attacked when I'm at Lincoln's house. There's kind of a precedent."

"But Lincoln's all grown up now. Surely he won't attack you anymore."

Michael laughed. "Not him. Not always him. He had friends who didn't mind smacking me around sometimes when I was a kid." He shrugged. "Lincoln would beat the crap out of me to encourage me to do what I was supposed to. His friends would smack me if I didn't get them their beer fast enough."

Heart aching, Alex pulled Michael around and kissed him as deeply as he could. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"It's nothing. You probably went through worse."

It was actually a toss up. Yeah, Alex's dad had been no picnic, but he'd never locked Alex in a closet for a month with nothing but relish to eat. Plus, it wasn't the extent of abuse he'd been talking about. However facetiously Michael had meant it, Alex knew that, on some level, he had to be expecting some kind of abuse while staying at Lincoln's. It was all he'd ever known, and even now, through all the changes they'd both been through, it was too deep rooted to forget it.

Still. Nothing he could do about it right now. The best Alex could do was take comfort in Michael and provide it in kind.

"Where's Lincoln, anyway?"

"He took LJ home. We were all in our pajamas, and LJ can't be seen in public like that. Plus, he's exhausted. I think he's coming down with Cameron's cold, too."

"Ah." He kissed Michael's neck again. The soft, dark hair. "Cameron was quite distraught over you."

"I'll make it up to him." Michael yawned and snuggled against Alex. "We'll watch Nemo or something."

"I'm sure he'll be happier if you marry him."

Michael laughed. "God, just what I need, another stalker." He shook his head. "When we all come this weekend, you and Cameron need to have a talk. Or something. I don't know. When I try to talk to him, he just insists that he loves me and we should get married until you get out. He's so..."

"Clingy?" Alex suggested.

Michael looked at him.

"In the past few months, he's moved states. His mother has gotten into a relationship. His father has gotten into a relationship and then engaged. He's started a new school, he only barely understands why I'm in jail and why Pam and I aren't married. He wants something for himself."

"Then why not LJ?"

Alex shrugged. "You're prettier? I don't know why you. Unless it's because, right now, you're the closest thing he has to me."

"But it started before I got out."

"You were new. I don't know, Michael." He wrapped his arms more firmly around Michael. Kissed him. "You're easy to cling to."

Michael sighed. Closed his eyes and snuggled back against him. "I miss you so much."

"Yeah." He pressed his face against Michael's hair. "But I'll get out. Soon. I hope." He cleared his throat. "David Wheeler was here yesterday."

"Oh?"

"Yes. He said that he's going to take my petition to Washington when he goes in a few weeks. See if he can figure out what happened. Or rush it through or something."

"That's nice of him. I'm supposed to meet the president next week. My agent set it up. He, uh, suggested I might want to, uh, like do a piece for him."

"As a thank you?"

Michael shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. I might just recycle part of the tattoo or something. Or maybe do something with the White House and the President and some stuff he's done. I don't know." He sighed and tilted his head back to rest on Alex's shoulder, eyes closed. "I don't want to think about it right now."

"Then don't." He traced his fingertips along Michael's hairline. "So. David's seeing someone. That you know."

"Sara. Yeah, I know. She told me the other day when we talked."

A knot of anxiety loosened in his chest. "So you know."

"Yeah. Why?"

"Just... how do you feel about it?"

Michael sat up and turned around. He frowned, brow furrowed. "I don't know. Relieved, I guess. I ruined her life and that's always going to weigh on me. But, if she can find happiness, if she can rebuild her life... then at least, I don't know. At least I won't have ruined her."

"I thought she forgave you."

"I don't know. I'm not... maybe she has. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't change what I did." He looked up. "David's a good man, right?"

He nodded. "One of the best. Smart. Honorable. Yeah, he's a good man."

Michael smiled, relief splashed over his face. "Good." He moved back into Alex's arms and closed his eyes. "Alex?"

"Yeah?"

"You're one of the best, too."

Alex smiled and pressed a kiss on Michael's forehead. "Only because I have such wonderful examples in my life that I strive to live up to."

The smile deepened, even as the familiar slackness of Michael drifting off to sleep came over his features. "I love you."

He kissed Michael's forehead again, then each eyebrow and both his eyes. "As do I. Always."


	63. Chapter 63

Lincoln watched as Cameron carefully maneuvered his way through the late afternoon mall crowd. He had an ice cream sundae clutched between his small hands, the whipped cream almost obscuring his vision. He'd offered to take it from Cameron until they got to the table, but the kid had been insistent.

"Here," Lincoln said when they reached the first empty table. "Let's sit here."

Cameron nodded. Face scrunched in concentration, he set the bowl on the edge of the table before pushing it toward the center. Then he climbed on seat, folding his legs under him.

"Uh, do you want a booster seat?" asked Lincoln, sitting across from him. "I think there's an empty one."

"Booster seats are for babies." Cameron stuck his spoon in the sundae and lifted it to his mouth. About half the whipped cream wound up on his nose.

Lincoln smiled and reached across the table. "Sorry. Didn't mean to insult you," he said as he swiped the whipped cream and held it out for Cameron to lick off.

Cameron shrugged and sucked off the cream. He then went back to working on the sundae.

Watching Cameron, Lincoln started on his own. He missed days like this. Hadn't realized it, but watching Cameron brought it all back. First with Michael, when he'd been young and Lincoln had helped his mother by watching Michael when she was at work. Then with LJ... only he'd screwed up with LJ. Gotten wrapped up in trying to pay the bills... trying to pay the dealers for his next fix. He'd started so well, but then let it all slip away.

He was determined to do it right this time. Make up lost time with LJ. Do it right with Cameron. Do everything right.

"Thanks for coming out with me today, Cameron," he said. His stomach was tied in knots and he wasn't that hungry. He just sort of kept dropping the ice cream back into the bowl.

"You're welcome," Cameron answered, chocolate dripping down his chin.

Lincoln cleared his throat. "I, uh. I know you haven't been feeling well."

"I feel better now. My nose is a little runny, but Mom got the good Kleenex. The soft kind." He ate another spoonful, then said, "I wish she got the toilet paper with the bears. They're funny."

"Um. What?"

Cameron blinked up at him. "The bears? On TV? The little bear goes potty behind the tree, and he gets a lots of toilet paper. And then momma bears says that they don't need so much. I like that toilet paper, but Mom gets another kind."

"Well, you know that the bears don't come with the toilet paper, right? It's just a commercial."

"I know," he said, rolling his eyes in a move that was pure LJ. "This is good." He ate another spoonful.

"How's school going?"

"Um... Okay. I know how to add up to twelve. Mrs. Drum taught us fact families. I like fact families because they're always together. Two plus five is seven. Five plus two is seven. Seven minus two is five. Seven minus five is two. See? All the numbers stay together. Like a family."

"That's... pretty amazing," Lincoln said. Not just because his... Cameron was doing math so easily, but because he'd never thought about math that way. The things they thought up these days to teach kids.

"And in science, I learned that a chicken and a penguin and a snake and a shark and a frog are oviparous animals. But I'm not oviparous."

Okay, and now he was starting to feel like he always did around Michael. Only now he was an adult, so instead of feeling frustrated and stupid, he felt... awed. This kid, like his brother, was amazing. "Um. What's oviparous mean?"

"That they're born from eggs. Like alligators and butterflies and lizards. Bunnies don't lay eggs, but the Easter bunny hides them." Cameron frowned and shook his head. "I saw on TV this bunny making chicken sounds and then laid an egg. I think it was lying."

"Well, it's just a commercial. Not lying, just playing pretend. And the eggs are chocolate."

Cameron's eyes lit up. "Chocolate eggs?"

"You've never had a chocolate egg?"

"No. What makes them?"

"Candy makers. They're not real eggs."

"Oh." He thought about it a moment, then nodded. "Okay." He went back to his sundae.

Lincoln stirred his melted ice cream. "What about friends?"

"Um. My best friend is Nathan. He and I play handball at recess. Sometimes he plays prison break with me."

"Prison break?"

"Yeah. We play on the jungle gym. We get thrown in jail, like you and Uncle Mike, and then I break us out with the map. Sometimes I let Nathan break us out. It's fun."

It sounded disturbing, actually. Of course, he'd known how much Cameron idolized Michael, and he had ended up watching some of "Break Out." But for him to pretend to be in jail...

No way he could understand it, though. It was just a game, and jail as just a lace where Daddy lived. It was probably harmless.

Probably. He'd ask Dr. Brighton next time he took LJ.

"Any other friends?"

"Yeah. Billy and Noah and Jesse and Sammy. They play prison break with us, too. And Noah was on my soccer team. But I like Nathan the best."

"Why don't you invite Nathan over sometime to play?"

Cameron heaved a sigh. "He lives on a different street. And his mom doesn't know my mom, so he can't come over until she meets her. And Mom won't let me go to his house."

Lincoln put his spoon down. "What do you mean your mom won't let you go? Have you asked her?"

His shoulders hunched. Head ducked.

"Do you not want to play at his house?"

"I do," Cameron whispered.

"Then ask your mom. And, I'm sure she'll be glad to meet Nathan's mom so he can come over. You just need to ask us. Her."

Ice cream was shoveled into his mouth. "It's okay."

"No, Cam. Hey, look at me." He pulled Cameron into his lap and lifted his chin. "What's wrong, buddy?"

His chin trembled. "I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"Because what if... what if I go to his house, and then you go away? I don't want you to go away. I don't want to go back to the hotel and Colorado. I wanna stay here."

Lincoln was at a loss. He grabbed a napkin and scrubbed some of the stick away from Cameron's face. Then he stroked his finger on Cameron's cheek. "I don't understand. Why would you going to your friend make me go away?"

"Daddy did."

Well, duh.

He pulled Cameron into a tight embrace. Kissed the top of his head and stroked his back. "Cameron, it wasn't your fault. And it won't happen again. I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to be around for a long time and you can visit a friend or stay the night or go to the moon, and I'll always be there when you come home."

"Daddy used to say he'd always be there."

Damn.

"I'm sure he meant it. And just because he went away, it doesn't mean he ever stopped loving you." He wiped a tear away as it rolled down Cameron's cheek. "Cam, no matter what happens, there's always going to be someone to be with you. To take care of you."

He nodded. "I'm going to marry Michael. He won't leave me."

"I won't leave you either."

Cameron's face scrunched. His chin trembled. "But if I marry Michael, I can live with him and he can take care of me. You live across the street."

He stroked Cameron's hair. "Well. Maybe we can fix that. Maybe you and your mom could come live with me. Would you like that?"

There was a long silence. Cameron's fingers were bunched in Lincoln's shirt, opening and closing around the fabric. The tears were slowing, but his nose was picking up the pace.

Still. Lincoln resisted reaching for a napkin to wipe it away. He had to let Cameron think this over. When he and Pam had discussed it the night before, they'd both agreed that it had to be Cameron's decision. He was confused right now. Overwhelmed. But, it seemed, his fear of being abandoned had been heightened. Hence the insistence on clinging to Michael.

It'd occurred to Pam, been backed by Alex, and brought to Lincoln's attention that maybe what Cameron was really looking for was a live-in daddy.

"You mean, me and mommy move across the street?"

"I was thinking, yeah. Because, you know. We can't leave LJ and Michael alone, and there's just two of you."

"What about my room?"

"You'll get to decorate a new room. Maybe Michael can help this time. Paint a picture on the wall."

Cameron's eyes lit up. "Wow," he whispered. "And you won't leave?"

"No."

"You'll marry Mom?"

"Do you want me to?"

He thought about it, sucking on his bottom lip. "If you marry Mom, you'll be my daddy. But Daddy will still be my daddy, too. Like, Jesse has his mom and daddy, but they don't live together, and his mom married George and George is Jesse's sort-of dad."

"It's called a step-father."

"Yeah. Like George. You'll be my sort-of dad."

"I'll be your step-dad. And I'll love you always."

He blinked. "What do I call you?"

"Whatever you want. You decide."

Cameron sniffed. Wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I think I'll call you Lincoln. Right now. Is that okay?"

"It's fine, buddy." He kissed Cameron on the forehead. "So. Do you want to live with me?"

"You won't leave?"

He shook his head. "Never."

Cameron sniffed again. Wiped his nose again. Nodded. "Okay."


	64. Chapter 64

Michael straightened his tie. Ran his hands lightly over his hair, discreetly checking his reflection in the mirror across the hall.

He looked like crap. Worse, he looked tired and pale and old. Or maybe young. He couldn't tell anymore. Whatever it was, he looked incompetent.

It wasn't the suit. Not exactly. The suit was brand new for the occasion. It's been tailored to fit hit perfectly. It was expensive, like the suits he used to wear to work before... Before. The suit was perfect.

It was him. He was too pale and too thin. His hair wouldn't behave. His eyes bugged out of his head. He looked like a scarecrow. And he was about to go on national television.

"I'm going to throw up," Michael said as calmly as he could.

Annette, a secretary to the president or an assistant to the president or a secretary to *someone*, jumped where she was standing. "Oh. Oh, um, well... there's a... restroom. Right through that door, sir, if you ..."

He swiftly crossed the room to where she was pointing. Through the door was, indeed, a restroom. He just made it.

"Can I... If I go back to prison, can I skip this?" Michael asked after he was done in the restroom.

Annette gaped at him. A pen hung limply between her fingers, her organizer practically on the tip of her fingers.

A hand clamped on his shoulder. "No, Mikey. There's no getting out of it," Lincoln said. "Calm down."

"Lincoln, I'm about to meet the president of the United States. On TV. How am I supposed to calm down?"

Lincoln maneuvered Michael to a chair. Forced him down. Pushed a glass of water into his hand and up to his mouth. "The usual way. Breathing. Counting primes or whatever you count. Not obsessing."

Michael closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. He thought for a moment about holding it, but knew it was impossible to kill yourself by holding your breath. One could only hold long enough to black out, and then the stupid central nervous system kick started the respiratory system and foiled the brains plan for auto-asphyxiation.

Although, perhaps if he fainted, this whole thing would get called off.

Except, he really didn't want to be known as the person who was pardoned by the President, invited to Washington to meet said president, staying in the finest hotel on the government's dime, only to pass out in a holding chamber.

He exhaled. Took a few more deep breaths. Felt his pulse slow. Anxiety faded very, very slightly.

"Better?"

Michael shook his head. "I guess." He looked up at Lincoln. "I want to go home."

"I know you do. But, first you have to make nice with the President."

As if on cue, the door opened. "Mr. Scofield, they're ready for you now."

Another wave of nausea washed over Michael. He swallowed it back. Took another breath. Pushed himself to his feet. "Okay."

There were aids and secret service men and people all around. There was talking and activity and phones and.... and the Goddamn White House all around him, but Michael wasn't processing any of it. He existed in a sort of tunnel vision, everything muted and distant. One rumbling roar of details and color and sounds. The only clarity in the world was the back of Annette's head: her hair (brown), her clip (six jewels pasted on) her necklace (10 links along the back of her neck). Everything else, nothing.

Then, air. Fresh air on his face. Blinding sun. The stretch of green grass and hedges. A blur of cameras and reporters and lights.

Michael was ushered across the lawn to a podium. The President was already there, talking.

Lights flashed in Michael's face. He flinched, heart steadily thrumming in his ears.

"And so, it is imperative that we continue to seek out corruption in our government and business in the hopes that something like this never happens again," the President was saying. He glanced at Michael. "Ladies and gentlemen, one the men who risked his freedom and life to not only protect his brother, but to help bring the treachery within our own government agencies to light, Michael Scofield."

Michael was lightly prodded forward. He stumbled, applause like the ocean ringing in his ears. Shifting his gift to his left hand, he took the President's hand, his own sweating profusely.

"On behalf of the United States government, Mr. Scofield, you have my humble thanks."

"Um." Shit. Of all the times to lose his power of speech. "I'm glad something positive came out of everything, sir," he managed. "And I'm sorry for, uh. For the trouble caused. The lives lost."

"As am I." He squeezed Michael's hand and dropped it. Then his eyes slid to the gift in Michael's hand.

Oh. "Yes. Mr. President. I... Please accept this gift as thanks and... admiration for your administration."

The President took the gift and unwrapped the canvas. The look on his face warmed Michael and broke some of the fog surrounding him. It was the shock of someone who opened a present on Christmas morning, expecting socks, only to find the latest high tech toy they'd been dying for.

Michael suppressed a grin.

It was a portrait of the President. Michael wasn't satisfied with it, not completely. He preferred to have layers on layers of symbolism that overlapped, hiding and disappearing and forming new pictures that contained them. This one was only two layers deep: the basic portrait and a myriad of symbols either of the country and patriotism (the flag, Statue of Liberty, Liberty Bell) or the President in particular (military service, volunteer work, family, etc.). The overall theme was one of hope and the future, as all pictures of a president inevitably seemed to be. Luckily, since he'd set Michael free, he'd been inclined to think favorably on his administration.

The President cleared his throat. "Mr. Scofield, I'm... I'm... I'm honored."

"Show us!" a reporter called.

That broke the sudden silence that had descended. The President beamed and turned the portrait around.

Flashes blinded Michael. He blinked and smiled, half waving, half shading his eyes. Questions were asked of him, but the President, after handing off the portrait to someone, put his hand on Michael's shoulder.

"Thank you all for coming, ladies and gentlemen." Then he turned Michael around and led him back into the White House.

Holy shit, he was in the Oval Office.

He tried not to gape. It wasn't like he'd never been in an office before. Just, you know, not the Oval Office.

"So. How is freedom treating you?" the President asked once they were in the office.

Michael shrugged. "I, uh. Okay, I guess. It's still strange. You get so used to the routine of prison, that..."

The door opened, distracting him. Annette led Lincoln inside, nodded at the President, then left.

"Ah, Lincoln Burrows. We met, right?"

"Briefly, sir," Lincoln said, voice rough like it got when he was nervous. He shook the other's hand, eyes darting to the silent secret servicemen standing by.

"So, Michael. May I call you that?"

"Yes, sir."

The President nodded and smile. "What do you plan to do now?"

"I hadn't given much thought. The most important thing for me right now is trying to get Alex out. Legally, I mean. Of course." He glanced at Lincoln, who handed him an envelope. "Please, Mr. President, here's his petition for commutation. If you could just look it over. Please. He's a good man. He deserves a chance."

The President frowned and took the envelope. "Your case was... unique, Michael. The company's involvement skewed things. In your favor. But Alex Mahone.... I'm willing to look into it, but I have to go through the proper channels."

"I know. But, that paperwork. It's what he already filled out. I'm just bringing you another copy, that's all."

"Are you sure he turned it in?"

"What? Yes. Yes, the same day as I did. We finished it and took it to the warden. The warden sent it, registered mail. We got the confirmation that it was sent."

"No one has seen it. When I decided to think seriously about pardoning you, I asked for both petitions. I only received yours. I've since asked, but no one seems to know where it is."

"He's resubmitted it. So, I'm bringing it here. Please."

He nodded. Sighed. "Well. Since I can't seem to get it any other way, I guess it's not completely out of line. But I can't promise anything."

Michael nodded. Shook his head. "No, yes. I know. I understand, sir. Just... you know, give him a chance. And, uh... here." He fumbled with his coat, reaching into the interior pocket. "Just, since I'm here, and I can, uh..." He pulled a picture out. "This is Travis. Donnelly. He was Alex's first cell mate. This poor, pretty, abused kid. Completely traumatized and brutalized by everyone in that prison. Until Alex showed up. And started taking care of him. Kept people from hurting him. But even more than that, he got Travis to open up about his past. Things that had happened to him. Uncovered years of abuse that no one knew about, and then fought to get Travis the help he needed. Filled in paperwork, talked with the doctor, the warden, everyone. And now, well, he's not perfect, but he's better. Working through his problems, safe. Working for his GED. Because of Alex."

"That's all well and good..."

"This is Ralston." He switched pictures. "This is the man that Alex saved during a riot. He would have died had Alex not found him and pulled him out of the fray. Kept him safe. Risked his life." Michael shrugged. "And there's me. I mean, I know I'm not... maybe not accepted by mainstream America or whatever. But I was attacked in prison. Brutally hurt. And, without Alex, I wouldn't be anywhere near put back together."

The President sighed. Took the pictures and looked at them. "As I said, I'll look into it. I don't make any promises, but I'll give the matter my due course. Now, what are you..."

"Mr. President, sorry to interrupt."

He turned. "Richard. No, please, come in. Michael Scofield, Lincoln Burrows, this is my friend Richard Sullins. He works with the Department of Justice."

Sullins gave Michael a thin smile. "Mr. Scofield," he said, shaking his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Michael nodded. "You, too."

"I just needed to get your signature, sir." He handed a clipboard to the President.

"Oh, of course. Um..." He quickly skimmed the paper, then picked a pen from his desk and scribbled his signature. "Here. And could you give this to Cindy?"

"Of course. Gentlemen."

Michael watched, heart sinking, as Sullins took the envelope with Alex's petition and walked from the room.

"Don't look so despondent, Michael. My secretary reads all these documents and highlights key sections of them for me. I won't forget it. I promise. Now. I have a tour set up for your family. Follow me and I'll pass you along."

He nodded and followed the president. Even though he'd received assurances from the President himself, he couldn't help the hollow, sinking feeling in his stomach.

They passed the block of secretaries. He saw Sullins talking with one, handing over the envelope. The other man's eyes slid to his and, for a moment, Michael felt pinned and trapped.

The moment passed. Sullins smiled, nodded, and turned away.

But something about the scene lingered.

* * *

"No. No, stop. Travis! Stop," Alex said for what seemed like the thousandth time. A dull ache had settled behind his eyes. He rubbed them, but it didn't help.

"What?" Travis asked, throwing his pencil down. His jaw was tight, and he glared at Alex.

Alex forced himself to speak softly. Not upset Travis further. "Okay. You set the equation up correctly. Good job. But now you're futzing up on your addition again. You're subtracting. And not correctly. You need to add."

"Yeah, well, you know why I'm having problems with that?"

"Why?"

Travis rose out of his seat. Put his mouth near Alex's ear. Shouted, "I can't fucking add, you stupid prick!"

"Jesus!" Alex jerked back, hand to his ear. "What the hell?"

"I'm sick of this! I can't do it, and I don't want to anymore." He swiped his hand across the table. The math book flew off and hit the wall.

If he didn't do this practically every day, Alex might have been more sympathetic. As it was, he felt tired and useless. This was more Michael's thing, not his. He just didn't have the patience to sit here day after day and remind Travis to add instead of subtract. Or whatever. And to put up with the temper tantrums on top of it.

"Fine," he snapped. "If that's the way you feel, fine. We'll stop. I'm sick of fighting you. If you're fine with the idea of working in a gas station for the rest of your..."

"Hey, FBI. Give the kid a break. Math's not everyone's thing."

Alex stopped, shocked. Turned.

When Ricky Esposito had been allowed, on a trial basis, to spend his free time in protective segregation, he and Alex had come to a tactic, if unspoken agreement, to pretend the other didn't exist. And yet, here the punk was, sitting with his book closed, speaking to him.

"Excuse me?" Alex managed, much politer than his first impulse.

Ricky gave him a smirk. "Not everyone's a human calculator, you know."

"That's right," Travis said, a tad uncertain. He glanced at Alex. Twisted his hands.

"So. Put the book back on the table, Travis. Then go get a pack of cards."

"What?"

"I'm bored. Come on. You know how to play poker, right?"

Looking dazed, Travis picked the book up and put it back on the table. As he crossed the room to the games against the back wall, Ricky tossed Alex a wink. Then he moved to another table. Set his book aside.

Alex gathered up Travis's papers. Folded them and placed them into the book. Then, he picked up the book he was reading and opened it, all the while keeping an eye on Ricky, trying to figure what he was up to.

"Here," Travis said. He looked a little wide-eyed. Awed. Made sense. Even in protective seg, with ugly scars on his exposed wrists as testimony to how low he'd once sunk, he was still Ricky Espositio. Mafia. Part of a rich and influential family.

And, he was cute as hell. Not that Alex either thought that or would ever admit it.

"Okay, so. Poker. I've got some Gummie Bears we can bet." He pulled out a bag and set it on the table.

"There's poker chips."

"Ah, Gummie Bears are more fun." Ricky quickly split it up.

They played. Alex glared at them over his book, turning pages without reading. Not that he cared, because if Travis wanted to rot his brains on cards and Gummie Bears, that was his decision. Alex washed his hands of him.

Even if he had promised Michael.

Fuck all of them.

"I'm bored. Let's do Blackjack instead," Ricky said after about fifteen minutes. "You know Blackjack?"

"Um. That's the one where you make twenty-one, right?"

"Yeah. So, cards two through nine are all the value of the numbers on the cards," he said, shuffling. "Ace can be one or eleven, whichever gives you a better hand. We'll deal with that when we get there. The ten and all the face cards are worth ten. Suit doesn't matter. You keep asking for cards, trying to get as close to twenty-one as possible without going over." He finished dealing. "Questions?"

"Um." Travis frowned. "No. I'm good."

"Okay. So. Here we go." He dealt two cards. "Okay, I have Jack, so ten. You've got five. Want another card?"

"Yeah. Um. Hit me." Travis gave an impish smile.

Ricky grinned at him. Dealt again. "Eight. What do you have now."

"Uh..." Travis blinked rapidly. "Fourteen. No! Thirteen."

"Good." Ricky gave himself a card. "Six. So that's..."

"Sixteen."

"Right. Now, want another?"

"Sure."

Ricky gave him another card. "Four. So, what do you have?"

Travis bit his lip. His forehead furrowed in thought. "Seven... seventeen," he answered, nodding.

"Yup. Dealer takes another cards. Ah! King. What'd do I have?"

"Twenty-six."

"So. You want another, or are you good?"

"Well, I won, right?"

Ricky blinked. "Oh. Yeah. I wasn't thinking. Okay, you're deal." He gathered the cards and passed them to Travis. While Travis was shuffling, Ricky glanced up at Alex. Winked again. Then went back to the game.

Amazed, Alex watched them play for almost an hour. During that time, Travis never subtracted when he was supposed to add, never burst into tears, never threw one thing. He got progressively faster at adding, more confident.

And he didn't seem to realize what he was doing, either.

"Travis! Shrink!"

Travis rolled his eyes. "I gotta go."

"Yeah, I heard. We'll play tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks. Oh, here's your Gummie Bears."

Ricky smiled. "Keep 'em."

"Thanks!" Travis said, grinning. He scooped up his treats and turned. When he saw Alex, his face fell. Head ducked, he shuffled back over to his table. "Um. Look, about earlier..."

"It's okay," Alex said. "You were frustrated. I get it."

"I know I'm dumb and frustrating, but... will you still help me?"

He nodded. Lifted the book and handed it to Travis. "Of course."

"Thanks, Alex." Hugging the book to his chest, he left.

Alex looked at Ricky, who was shuffling the cards again.

"Let me have him tomorrow before you start. I get him in the mode, get his brain to switch on. Get him calm before he has to tackle the other stuff."

"How were you able to do that?"

Ricky shrugged. "Dunno. It's just cards." He licked his bottom lip. "I used to help... It's the only way he learned to add. Oh, I'll get him working on subtraction in a couple days."

"Maybe you should tutor him."

"You giving up on the kid?" But he asked it easily, with a ready smile.

"I only want what's best. And I'm not it."

He nodded. Shot Alex another smile. "Okay, well. Maybe you can arrange for something to come up? Phone call or doctor's appointment or something. Just so he doesn't think you're passing him off."

"I'm not."

"But he won't get that. 'cause, you know. He's Travis."

Alex had forgotten that they'd spent some time together in the psych ward. Obviously not enough for Travis to overcome his awe, but enough for Ricky to gain some insight.

Although, Alex had to admit to himself, Ricky seemed to be quite... observant when it came to others.

"Okay. I can arrange that." He frowned. "Uh. Thanks."

"I'm not doing it for you."

"I know. But. Still. Thanks."

Ricky shrugged as he picked up his book again. "Yeah, well. You're welcome."


	65. Chapter 65

"I got an eighty-six percent!" Travis said the moment he stepped through the door of the visitor's room. "That's a B!"

Michael blinked, a little taken aback, both by the person in the room and the exuberance with which he'd been greeted. Travis was beaming, waving a certificate over his head. He looked happier than Michael had ever seen him.

Travis plopped into the chair across from him. Slapped the certificate down. "Look at that. Eight-six percent. I haven't gotten anything higher than a C since I was in third grade."

"Congratulations, Travis. I'm proud of you. I told you that you could do it," Michael said. He wanted to ask where Alex was. Simms had said they'd let two cons in at a time to visit with Michael: Alex and one of the others. Michael definitely hadn't expected Travis to be first.

"Yeah, but it wasn't until Ricky started playing with me that I could do anything. I mean, I'm sure you're a good tutor, but you worked with me, like, what? Once?"

"Twice."

"Right. So, I mean, you're cool. But he, like... like..."

"Okay, when you say playing with you, what do you mean?" Michael interrupted. His stomach twisted at Travis's choice of words. He liked Ricky, and really didn't want to think anything bad about him. Not like that.

Travis, though, shook his head. "No, I mean cards. I'm so stupid, I didn't even get it at first. We played for, like, three days before I got that he was using Blackjack to teach me how to add. And subtract! We played where you had to get close to one without going under. I can do it like," he snapped, "now."

Michael smiled. "That's great."

"No, I mean it. Ricky got me these timed tests. I tested out of addition and I'm flying through subtraction."

"Travis, I'm glad he's helping you. But here's the thing. It's not just Ricky. It's you."

"No, it's..."

"Travis." Michael put his hand over Travis's and squeezed. "Ricky was the one to reach you. You're the one doing the work."

A rosy blush took over Travis's face. He ducked his head and pulled down his baseball cap. "I just, you know. Don't know what he wants."

Yeah, Michael was kind of wondering that, too. Except, he did think he sort of knew Ricky, at least a little. The man was brilliant. And he was bored. Travis was a project, something to keep his mind busy while serving time.

Most likely.

"Well. You don't owe him sex."

Travis swallowed. "But..."

"No." God, hadn't Alex already gone through this with him? Or his psychologist? "Gratitude is fine. A present of some kind is fine. Your body is not."

"Not even if I think he's cute?"

Michael raised his eyebrow. "Well. If you want him because you want him, that's one thing. If you want him because you think you owe him, that's another."

The door opened again. Alex stepped inside.

"Sorry," he said, crossing the room to Michael. "Doctor."

Michael was up and out of his seat so quickly the chair tipped over. Alex's hands were on his face, and they were kissing like they'd been apart for years. He clung to Alex, holding him, the constant ache in his chest screaming in his chest before fading away. Soothed. Calmed.

He pulled away. "Tell Travis not to sleep with Ricky to thank him for tutoring him."

Alex leaned in and kissed Michael again. "Listen to Michael."

Michael avoided the next kiss. "And that it's only okay if he wants it."

That stopped Alex short. "No way in hell." He turned. "No way in hell are you sleeping with that bastard."

Travis's jaw clenched. "But I like him."

"No. The man is ... is..."

"A nice guy. A really smart guy, too."

"Ricky Esposito..."

"You know, don't let your jealousy color your perception of him or anything," Michael interrupted dryly. "Travis. You're not a whore. You don't pay for things with your body. And if you don't talk about your crush on Ricky with your psychologist, I'll call Doctor Parsons and tell him and he'll tell your shrink."

"Michael..." Alex started, but Michael squeezed his hand.

Travis nodded. "I'll tell him. Can I call you?"

Michael wondered when he'd become Travis's mentor. Nodded.

The kid grinned. "Thanks. I'll see you later." He went to the door and knocked.

Alex was on Michael before Travis even left. Backed him against the nearest wall, tongue in Michael's mouth, one hand under his shirt. Michael moaned as he clung to Alex, sucking on his tongue, bones turning to liquid. A part of him was protesting that they shouldn't do this, not here. That they couldn't. Guards were watching them on the security cameras, probably laughing. He hated having an audience, and he knew that, at any moment, someone would come in an embarrass them further.

But he couldn't stop kissing Alex. Breathing him in, combing his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. He was so hot. Every bit of him tingled, every part of him was alive.

Someone cleared his throat. "Um. Guys."

Reluctantly, Alex broke the kiss. Pulled his hands from under Michael's shirt and placed them on the wall. He didn't pull away, however, simply rested his forehead against Michael's, breathing heavily.

"Just, uh. You know. Remember that there's only so much leeway we can allow you. And that, uh, some of the guys aren't averse to making a little money by selling security footage to the press. Or, internet porn."

"Thank you, boss," Alex said, not pulling away. "We'll keep that in mind."

"Thanks, Simms."

The door closed.

Michael loosened his grip on Alex's shirt. Ran his hands up to his face. "Why were you with the doctor?"

"I woke up with a headache. I needed medication."

"You've been getting a lot of headaches," Michael said worriedly. He stroked Alex's jaw.

Alex shook his head. Took Michael's hand and kissed the palm. "My eyesight's gotten worse. I need stronger glasses. Maybe even bifocals. Parsons is setting up a time for the contracted optometrist to come in."

He pulled his head away. "Then shouldn't you be wearing glasses right now?"

"My eyes have been closed." He kissed Michael softly. When he pulled away, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his glasses. "I've mainly used them for reading. This will take getting used to."

"You look sexy in them."

Alex smirked. "You look sexy."

"You're really... randy today," Michael laughed. He pulled Alex back to him for a kiss.

"It's because you're irresistible." Alex slid his leg between Michael's. Wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. Pressed his face against Michael's neck.

"Alex?" He stroked Alex's back.

He pulled away. "How was your trip to DC?"

Michael frowned. Something was wrong. Alex was... hiding something. What, he didn't know, but something... "Is it really just eyestrain?" he asked, sitting at the table by Alex.

"What? Yeah. It's just my eyes."

"Then what aren't you telling me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Alex said sharply. "I'm fine. I still have a bit of a headache, but I'm fine. So. How was your trip?"

Michael sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He raised an eyebrow.

Alex gazed back at him, face blank.

Okay, so that was how he was going to be. No problem. Michael was an expert at this game.

Keeping his face composed, eyes on Alex, Michael turned his concentration inward. Pulled up his favorite symphony in his mind and hit play. The music filled him, taking him away from the room and its awkwardness. Away from Alex's stupidity.

He was ten minutes into the symphony when Alex finally spoke.

"Sorry?" Michael said, pausing the music.

"We only get a short time together. Is this really how you want to spend it?"

"Is it how you want to?" he countered.

Alex sighed and shook his head. "No. But you're not going to be happy, and I wanted to... I wanted to have some time with you before I had to make you unhappy."

Michael reached for Alex's hand. "I understand that. But, you know that I can read you. All I can do now is worry about what's wrong. And you know what a good imagination I have."

"Michael..."

"You have a brain tumor, right?"

His lips twitched. "No." Alex caressed the back of Michael's hand with his thumb. Gazed down at it, face sad. "My lawyer was contacted by the President's office. I have to resubmit my petition. Apparently, it wasn't complete."

"What?"

"There were papers missing from it."

"No, there weren't." Michael could hear the panic creeping into his voice. He tried to keep it calm, but his stomach was churning too quickly. Heart pounding. "It was all complete. I checked. I checked it over and over again. It was all there, all in the..."

The image flashed in his mind. Sullins, handing the envelope to the secretary.

"He opened it," Michael breathed.

"What?"

"When I gave the envelope to the President, it was closed. When Sullins gave it to the secretary, it was open."

"When who gave it to the secretary?"

Michael flinched at the sharpness in Alex's voice. Met his eyes. "Uh, this man. Sullins."

"Richard Sullins."

"Yeah. How..."

"What was he doing there?" Alex asked urgently. He lunged off his seat and grabbed Michael tightly by both arms.

Michael flinched away, but Alex held him tight. "He... he works for the Department of Justice. He's friends with the President. Alex, what..."

"Fuck!" He released Michael. Strode to the door and pounded on it.

"What is going on, Alex?" He got up and crossed to him.

"Richard Sullins used to work for the FBI," answered Alex, pounding on the door again. "For Internal Affairs. He was the director. Never liked me."

"Oh?"

"Look, he's a good man. An excellent man. Smart, too. He knew the whole time what I did to Shales. Never believed that the man simply disappeared. Raked me over the coals over Apolskis. Almost nailed me on it, except the Company intervened."

"Alex..."

He turned from the door. Hands clamped on Michael's shoulders. Squeezed. "I'm not getting out of here, Michael. Not with Richard working against me. Even if my petition does manage to reach the President without his interference, there's still his influence. And let's face it: I'm guilty. Never mind that they decided to reduce sentence on Abruzzi and Apolskis's deaths because of mitigating factors, I still did it all."

"That doesn't give him the right..."

The door opened.

"Sorry," Simms said. "There was an incident we were taking care of. What's going on?"

Eyes still on Michael, Alex said, "I have to make some phone calls."

"You just got in here," Simms pointed out.

"This is important. I need to..."

"Alex, wait," Michael said. He looked at Simms. "Give us a few minutes?"

"Michael..."

"Please." He didn't know to whom he said it. Which man. Maybe it was both.

Simms looked back and forth between Alex and Michael. Nodded hesitantly before backing out and closing the door.

Michael swallowed. There was a lump in his throat. It felt like a rock, blocking his airway, making him feel sick.

He took Alex's hands. Pulled him back to the table. "What can I do?" he whispered, voice hoarse.

"You can, um. You can start really thinking about if you want to wait ten years for me."

Michael closed his eyes. Nodded. "Done. Yes, I am."

"Michael..."

"What else can I do?"

Alex closed his eyes. "I don't know. I don't know what to do anymore, Michael. I don't..." His voice cracked.

Michael pulled him into an embrace. Kissed his temple. Held him tight, squeezing, clinging. "We'll get through this," he whispered. "Just hang in there."

"I don't think I can. I'm coming apart. I can't.... I miss you so much."

"Alex..."

"I try to take comfort in the fact that you're out. And I'm glad, I'm so glad, because you were dying in here. But now..."

"God, Alex. I'm sorry."

Alex shook his head. Moved and kissed Michael, cradling his head in the palm of his hand. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm the one who did this. I killed Shales. Me."

"But you don't belong here." His voice cracked. The lump in his throat split in two. The tears followed.

Alex stroked Michael's jaw. "Maybe I do."

"Alex..."

"God, I miss you," he whispered. "Every moment, every day."

Michael stroked his hand down Alex's chest. Up to his neck. Along his collarbone. "What can I do?"

He shook his head again. "I don't know. I just... I don't know."


	66. Chapter 66

Lincoln knocked on the front door of Pam's old house. He could hear music blasting from inside, deep and throbbing. Michael's thinking music. Well. Art-thinking music. Architecture thinking music, sixty beats per second, optimum for getting the synapses firing. At least, according to Michael.

No answer, but with the level of music, that was no surprise. Not that Michael needed the music to block out the world. Once he got into his work, he was oblivious to everything else.

Lincoln pulled his key from his pocket and let himself into the house.

The music almost bowled him over. He'd forgotten just how loud Michael liked his music when he was in "the zone". When they were younger, Lincoln hadn't cared. Hell, he played his music at least as loud. Reveled in it. Went with the whole drugs and sex stuff he'd been into.

Not that he wasn't into sex now. It was just different.

"Michael?" he called. "Michael?"

Nothing. Still. The music seemed like it was coming from the living room. Lincoln made his way there, feeling like he was fighting a wave. "Michael?"

As suspected, Michael was in the living room. He leaned over the kitchen table, which had been dragged in, wearing ratty jeans and a tight, white tank top. There was a pencil in his hand, one between his teeth, and another tucked behind his ears. He drew furiously on a paper Lincoln couldn't see.

The living room had changed since the last time Lincoln had been there. The furniture that Pam had left had all been pushed to one side of the room and piled on each other. The TV was covered, as was the floor by the far wall. The kitchen table was also by the far wall, just on the edge of the sheet on the floor.

And the wall...

Heart in his throat, Lincoln crossed the room to the stereo. Snapped off the music with a sharp flick of his wrist. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, voice taking up the space the music had just vacated.

Michael was leaning over the table, pencil in his hand, another stuck behind his ear. At Lincoln's shout, his head snapped up, eyes wide. "Linc?"

"What the fuck is this?" He stormed across the room to the wall. "Is this the prison? You're drawing the fucking prison?" He tore a handful of drawings that were tacked to the wall down. Threw them to the floor as he spun. Grabbed Michael by the shoulders and shook. "Are you insane?" he practically screamed in Michael's face. "Do you honestly think you can pull this kind of shit?" He shook Michael again.

Michael's eyes were close. He reached for Lincoln's arms and held, nails digging into his skin. White teeth sank into Michael's lower lip so hard they drew blood.

"Talk to me!" He gave one last shake, then let him go.

Michael fell back, hitting the table. Eyes closed, he stood there, clutching at the table. His skin was the color of milk and he trembled.

"Talk," Lincoln demanded.

He inhaled noisily. Opened his eyes. "I'm not... not planning anything. It's an art piece."

"Bullshit."

"No, really. It's just the floor plan. Places I've been. Just..." He ran a shaky hand over his eyes. "I was in there forever. A lot happened. It's going to be in a lot of my art." He swallowed and looked away. "I'm not stupid, Lincoln."

He knew he shouldn't do it. He knew it was a stupid, asshole thing to do. And yet, Lincoln found himself reaching out. Pinching Michael's bare arm, he said, "This says otherwise."

The fist connected with his jaw before Lincoln had a chance to draw his next breath.

Lincoln stumbled back. Reacted without a thought. Connected with thin air.

"Get out," Michael snapped from the other side of the room.

He blinked. "What?"

"This is my house. Pam signed it over to me, it's mine. You get out!"

"Michael..."

"No! No, no, no, no, no! I did not fucking go to hell for you so you could call me stupid. For you to not listen to me. This is art! It's a piece I'm working on and, yeah, it's got the prison in it, but so fucking what? I'm not over it yet, okay? I'm still..."

"Michael..."

"When I come downstairs, you better be gone." Michael turned and jogged out of the room. A moment later, Lincoln heard a door slam from the upper story.

Ah shit. "Fuck."


	67. Chapter 67

Anger took a lot out of him. Michael was always so tired lately. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he didn't have the luxury. He was too busy keeping up the pretense of being okay for Lincoln, Cameron, and the press.

And Alex. Just in the afternoons, when he called. In those times, it was easy to summon up the energy to be cheerful. Pleasant. Happy. Because Alex needed that right now. In addition to the blow over his commutation (which had been resubmitted, without much hope) he had to get bifocals. And, just like that, he was fretting about getting old. Again.

Michael put up with the fretting as patiently as he could. He understood it wasn't exactly about Alex getting older as this idea he had that Michael was young and beautiful and perfect and wouldn't want Alex when he finally got out. Which was ridiculous. Michael couldn't imagine not wanting Alex. Not loving him. Not needing him at Michael's side for the rest of his life.

It would get easier. Michael was sure of that. He'd get Alex out of there. After all, Alex may have broken the law. Done wrong. But he was a good man. Done so much to atone for his sins. He was through being rehabilitated. Through being punished. He deserved to be out.

He closed his eyes and tugged his comforter up to his chin. Pam's comforter. She'd left her bed, some of the bedding. It was weird, being over here. Pam and Cameron had moved across the street four days ago. The next day, Pam had signed the house over to Michael, who'd promptly paid off what was owed on the house and then... and then just sort of left it alone. Today was the first day he'd really come over, and that was to work. It was just too crowded over at Linc's; too many people for him to think.

So, over here he came. And started working on a piece that'd come to him the night before while he tried to sleep. About prison, yes, but more than that. It was about Alex. About love. About them.

And the prison wasn't even the whole thing. It was going to be an amalgamation of their relationship: Fox River, Bolshoi Booze, the boarder crossing, Panama. Everything. Everything that had made them them would go into it.

It wasn't an escape plan. It couldn't be used as a map. Well. It could, but just of the areas where the inmates were permitted. Michael didn't have access to anything else. Nor did he have need. It wasn't that kind of piece.

But Lincoln didn't want to listen to him. He never listened. He always treated Michael like an idiot child and he was sick of it.

His stomach cramped. Groaning softly, he rolled onto his stomach. Pulled the pillow over his head.

A door slammed downstairs.

"Uncle Mike!"

He closed his eyes and pretended he was invisible.

Loud, stompy teenage steps on the stairs. Doorknob turning. A body falling on the bed.

The TV clicked on. "Oh, cool.Toy Story," LJ said happily. "I know Cameron likes Nemo, but I've always liked this one. Woody's cool. And I always kind of thought that my toys were off playing while I was out of the room."

"Lincoln sold my toys for food and drugs," Michael said, not pulling his head out from under the pillow.

LJ sighed.

The movie played on. The air under the covers grew hot and stuffy. Sweat dripped down Michael's forehead. He felt like he was suffocating.

Defeated, he shoved the covers off his head. Lay on top of the pillow.

"I brought some clothes over," LJ said. "I figure we can order a pizza for dinner or something."

"You don't live here."

"Technically, neither do you."

"Just go home, LJ."

"Naw." He put his hands behind his head. Kept his eyes on the screen.

Michael rubbed at his forehead. He had a headache. Maybe he needed glasses now. Maybe getting glasses would make Alex feel better about his. Of course, Michael wouldn't look sexy in them like Alex did, so maybe it'd just turn him off.

He hoped he didn't need glasses.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just want to be alone?" Michael asked. "I like being alone. I haven't been alone in almost... Christ. Two years." He was sort of gob smacked by that realization.

Two years. Two years of communal showers, or showers with Lincoln either in the next room or under the same hose. Two years of mess halls and cell mates. Of living with the stink of fear, the stink of oppression, or just stink. Two years of having a toilet in the same room he slept in. Of needing to get permission to call home, to buy something, to visit the doctor. Of being watched twenty-four hours a day and knowing that it was going to last until someone else said you were free.

Two years, gone. Wasted. Given away, gladly, callously. Willingly and now they'd always be there. Watching him. Imprinted on his skin, and...

"Here. Drink this."

A glass was pressed into his trembling hands. Something cold and wet was draped on his neck, and a warm hand rubbed his back.

He gratefully sipped at the water, feeling it slide down his dry, cracked throat. His lungs were tight, heart pounding, but as LJ rubbed his back, it slowed. Breathing eased. The black wave of panic receded.

"Sorry," he rasped.

"You just got out of prison. I think I'd be more worried if you didn't have the occasional freak out moments. I did. Dad did. You should."

"Lincoln would never freak out."

LJ snorted. "Oh, yeah, 'cause Dad is the soul of tranquility. He's never anything but totally calm." LJ squeezed the back of Michael's neck. "He freaked out a lot about you."

Michael rolled his eyes. Shook his head.

"Oh, come on, Uncle Mike. The one thing that Dad's always done was worry incessantly about you. It's how you all got into this mess, right?"

"I guess." He sniffed. Took another drink and swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"I told you, it's cool. You should be freaking..."

"No," Michael interrupted. "I'm sorry. Lincoln should have been more focused on you, not me. Especially after everything that happened. And..."

"Oh, God. Uncle Mike!" LJ flopped back on the bed. Threw his arm over his eyes. "When he wasn't there for me, you were. You were like... like a surrogate. And Dad wasn't not there because he was worried about you, but because he couldn't pull his life together."

"Because of me."

"No, because of him. Why are we having this conversation? Are you, like, trying to annoy me into leaving or something?"

Michael bit his lip. "No?"

LJ sat up and smacked him on the shoulder. "Stop it. Look, I get that you might want to be alone. And I totally understand, too. I don't blame you. But, right now, I don't think you should be alone. Not completely." He shrugged. "There are other rooms. And I've got homework I can do." He slid off the bed.

"LJ." Michael reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. "It's fine. Stay."

LJ gave him a brilliant smile. Crawled back on the bed and stretched out.

Michael stretched out next to him. The movie went on. It was all very familiar, sitting here with LJ, watching cartoons. LJ still laughed at all the same parts. He did that nose crinkle when something made him happy, and his feet came up and pressed into the mattress, fingers bunching in the covers when Buzz and Woody were left alone in Sid's room.

Michael resisted the urge reach over and squeeze LJ's hand. Sid's mutant toys had terrified LJ when he was a kid, even after he knew they were good. The buildup had always gotten to him.

They lay there and watched the movie until it ended. Then LJ rolled over. Looked at him.

He sighed. "You know I've been contacted by five different prisons? They want me to go over their plans to find security weaknesses."

"They gonna pay you?"

"Of course. Except Fox River. They offered, but I told them it was complementary."

"Cool. How much?"

He shrugged. "Don't know. I'm not exactly sure what's customary in cases like this. Don't really know who to ask, either."

"What about your old bosses? You know, at Middleton, Maxwell and... and..."

"Schaum. I thought about that, but I'm not sure if they'd be willing to help. What I did, it kind of cast them in a bad light. Not just because I worked for them, but because I used the ghostwritten plans. No one was supposed to know. I only knew because the guy who did them told me one day over lunch." He shrugged. "I guess I can ask the guy who does the accounting for the art. Or something. I don't know." He sighed. "The thing is... it's not really... I mean, what I did.... Only, like, one in a hundred people or something could have done it the way I did. It wasn't just looking at the plans and seeing the infirmary. It was seeing the infirmary in relation to the guard towers, to the walls, to the ground, to everything. I see it all at once, in one glance. Most people can't. Won't. They'll be paying me for something that might never happen."

"Did you tell them that?"

"Of course. But they still want me to look."

"So do it."

"I will. As soon as I figure out what to do about Alex."

LJ sighed. Traced the pattern on the comforter. "You going to break him out?"

"No. God, no. It's art. Plus, it won't work. If I committed a crime, they'd either stick me in another prison or a mental institution. Not back with Alex. They're not stupid."

"I guess."

"There is no way in hell the Warden will let me back into his prison. And I can't go back to Fox River, either. Besides, if I commit a crime, everyone will know why. They'll send me to a doctor to assess my mental capacity. In addition to prosecuting me and sending me to a prison I haven't already been in or tattooed on my skin. I understand all t his, so I'm not sure why Linc is convinced I'm going to do something stupid."

"Explain it like that, maybe he'll get it. Or, maybe he won't. Just, you know. Try not to fight."

Michael wrinkled his nose. "It'd be easier not to fight if he wasn't a jerk."

"I guess."

He sighed. Closed his eyes. "I wish I knew what to do about Alex. Wish I could break him out. Or that the President would just... ignore his scruples or morals or whatever and just... listen to reason. Do what's right without the paperwork."

LJ crawled closer to Michael. Head butted him lightly.

Michael smiled. Rubbed LJ's head, ruffling his hair.

"So. It's just this Sullins guy who mucking everything up, right?"

"That's what we think, yeah. Messing around with the paperwork. Maybe telling the President not to free Alex."

"Well, why don't you try talking to him? I mean, Alex said that he's a good man, right? All into honor and justice?"

"That's what he said. I'm not entirely sure I believe him. He's probably some last remnant of the Company, left undetected and doing its dirty work."

"I'd say you were a crazy conspiracy theorist, but I got thrown in jail because of that crazy conspiracy crap, so..." LJ shrugged. "Still. Alex believes in him. And what do you really have to lose?"

"By what?"

LJ blinked. "Oh. Talking to him. Didn't I say that?"

"No."

"Yeah. I think, maybe, you should go and, you know. Talk to him. Appeal to reason. And kindness and all that. Even if it doesn't work, at least you tried."

Michael stared at him until LJ blushed and squirmed.

"What?" LJ asked, face bright red. "Am I just being a stupid kid?"

"No. You're a genius." Michael kissed LJ on the forehead and sat up. His cell phone was on the nightstand; he grabbed it and thumbed down to the number he wanted. "Hi, David? It's Michael Scofield. I need you help."


	68. Chapter 68

Sweat ran down the sides of Alex's face. There was a dull ache in his arms. They trembled as he exhaled sharply, bringing the weights to his chest. Biceps bunched, he held the dumbbells for a moment. Then, with another hard exhale, he dropped his arms back down. Placed the weights back on the rack and stretched out his aching arms.

His entire body hurt. He’d worked out every day this week. Even on the third day, when his entire body ached and all he wanted to do was sleep, he'd come. Forced himself, but made it.

He’d grown use to a more sedentary lifestyle. Was given to sitting around, reading, rather than being up and doing. Back in Gen Pop, at least he’d kept in shape by constantly getting into fights. Once he’d been moved to protective seg, everything had changed. He’d gotten lazy, used to not having to look over his shoulder every second.

That laziness was costly.

So, here he was. Every day. Monday, Wednesday, Friday working his upper body. Thursday, Friday, Saturday, working his lower. It was, supposedly, the safe way to work out. Gave your body time to repair and rebuilt. Of course, it also led to his entire body being achy and tired.

It was worth it, though. Would be. Once his body started showing his efforts. Once Michael saw…

But that wasn't the only reason he was doing it. Working out gave him something to do. Another part thing to take up the endless time in this place. It took up time without him having to think. While he exercised, his mind went blessedly blank. His body moved, sweat beaded on his skin, his lungs burned, heart pounded and his mind…

Silence.

Still stretching his arms, Alex crossed the room to the punching bag. There were a pile of gloves on the floor, and Alex hated to stick his hands in them, but he needed to hit something.

He’d just gotten his first punch in when Ricky swaggered into the room. Alex gritted his teeth and steadfastly fastened his gaze on the punching bag. It felt like he spent most of his time these days ignoring the bastard. At first, it'd been easy. Ricky had worked with him, being invisible. Every morning after breakfast, he'd be escorted to the wing. He never said a word, just find a corner, open a book, and read. When he ate lunch, same thing: quite corner with his book. The only thing he did was read or watch TV. Easily ignorable.

The fact that Alex knew Ricky’s favorite soap was As the World Turns and he never missed an episode of Tyra Banks was purely happenstance. Those shows just happened to be on when Alex was in the rec room. Ricky had a habit of making cracks about what was going on, especially during Tyra. At first, he'd made them mostly to himself. Then, once Travis had become his shadow, Ricky had made his cracks to him. And because it was Alex's job to watch out for Travis, he was privy to every one.

Gloves on, Alex went to the punching back. Smashed his fist into it, pretending it was Ricky's face.

That pissed him off more than anything. He’d spent six months being a human punching bag for that kid. Going out on the yard every day, fighting his battles, keeping him safe. For what? For him to blush and preen and flirt with Mr. Mafia? Bullshit.

The bag swung away with his next blow. He waited for it to swing back, steadied it, then punched again. The chain rattled with the force and the bag swooped out of reach.

"Here." The bag stopped swinging. Ricky's face appeared beside it. "I'll hold it. That way, it'll be easier to get my face right in your head." He smiled. "Don't want you to get the eyes wrong or anything."

"Leave me alone, Ricky." Alex wiped his face. Moved his eyes back to the bag. Went back to punching, this time focusing on his footwork instead of killing the bag.

Ricky didn't leave. Alex ignored him. He circled the bag left, hitting the bag with tight, focused jabs and strong punches. The bastard just kept circling with him, keeping the bag steady, always out of reach.

It was getting harder to ignore him. Alex finished his outside drill and moved closer to the bag for an inside drill. Boxing was something he'd picked up back in junior high. One of his gym teachers had noticed how stressed he always was. How angry. He'd helped Alex channel that anger through boxing. Remarkably, his skill at the bag never bubbled over into real life; an hour pounding out his aggression, and he left with a clear head and calm spirit.

It wasn't working now. His body knew the movements, even if he was out of practice. It was easy to fall back into the long remembered rhythm. The anger, though, was just being fanned by the smirking pretty boy on the other side.

Although, to be fair, he wasn't smirking.

He dropped his hands by his side. Wiped his face on his sleeve. "Ricky. What do you want?"

"First, I want to make sure that your fist ain't gonna be connecting with my face anytime soon."

He bared his teeth. "Don't give me a reason."

"You don't need much of one."

"I've never hit you. I ignored you until Michael.

"You hit me once." Ricky shrugged. "But I guess that was kind of my fault. Back when you first came, we were hassling you. Cause of Abruzzi, you understand. You did kill my cousin."

"You were that close?"

He shrugged again. "Family's family."

"Right." Alex grabbed a towel and wiped his face. "What do you want?"

"Travis has a crush on me."

He grit his teeth. Went back to the punching bag and started jabbing. "And?"

"And, you're really protective over him."

"Of course I'm protective over him. He's nineteen years old. He spent almost a year being raped daily. He had a crappy childhood. And he doesn't know a good choice from Adam."

"I think that's great."

"I wasn't looking for your approval," he snapped.

Ricky didn't even blink. "Look. I think I like him. Thing I'm interested. But I don't want to cause trouble with you. So. Are you going to kill me if I go for it?"

"Go for it?"

"Do I need to spell it out?" He raised an eyebrow. "Look, at first, I wasn't going to do anything. I’m still kind of hung up on… uh…. and then Paul screwed my head around real good. And Travis…" Ricky sighed. "I never touched him, before. I'd never force anyone because..." He bit off his last words, jaw clenched. "Anyway. I like spending time with him. He's funny. And actually pretty smart, just doesn't know it."

"So, you're asking my permission to, what? Court Travis?"

Ricky smiled. "Yeah. Basically."

 

His jaw ached. Sharp, shooting pains through his face, down his neck. He tried unclenching his jaw, but it was too tight.

"No. And not just because it's you." Well. That was mostly true. Sort of. "He doesn't need that. This."

"What, the chance to be happy?"

"We're in prison."

"And yet you and Blue Eyes were wandering around for months like you were in heaven."

Only the fact that he'd probably lose his visitation with Michael kept Alex from smashing his fist into Ricky's face. As it was, his voice came out in a low growl. "Heaven? Between your brother shoving a fucking shiv up his ass and the fucking riot where he was almost killed? Not to mention being sick and getting hurt and panic attacks and nightmares and the shingles and…."

"At least you were together," Ricky said quietly. "I mean, yeah. It was bad. But every morning, you got to wake up with him. And every night… almost every night, you went to bed with him. And every day, you knew there was someone watching your back not because of some deal you made, or a half-formed friendship that would fall apart the moment you stepped outside of these walls, but because he was madly in love with you."

A pressure settled against Alex's chest. He rubbed at it. Shook his head. "It's over now. He's gone."

"He's waiting for you. And he made you happy. Makes you happy." Ricky shrugged. "All I'm saying is that Travis is interested in me. And I like hanging around him. I'm not talking about jumping into bed with him. He's… after everything, he deserves better. More. And so do I. I'm sick of… Anyway. But I don't want this to be a problem with you."

"It is."

"Okay, fine. Let me put it this way. If I start something with Travis, are you going to come after me? Because I'm really close to getting cleared so I can stay out here permanently. In protective seg I mean. And if you cause problems, they'll kept me in the psych ward until my release date. If they don't think I'm crazy."

Alex threw a quick flurry of jabs at the bag. Cracked his jaw. Coughed and pressed his hand against his chest. He was getting tired. "I don't like you."

"I know that. You don't have to. We just need to find a way to … to exist together. We both have Travis's best interest at heart."

"I don't…" He winced. Broke off what he was saying. Shook his head, trying to clear it. "I don't…"

"Hey, man, you okay?"

"I'm fine, I…"

"No, you're not. Shit. Here." There were hands on him, easing him to the floor. Over the roaring in his ears, Alex heard Ricky calling for the guards. Then, through a fog, he said, "Breathe, FBI. Come on."

"I'm. Fine."

"Uh-huh. You're chest hurt?"

It was on fire. Squeezing like a vise and it was all the way through his neck. His jaw.

His legs were lifted and placed on something. Someone lifted his head, slid a straw into his mouth. He sucked, wetting his parched mouth. His chest was so heavy. Sweat stood out on his forehead, so cold.

He shivered.

"Stay with me, Alex. Don't make that pretty boy of yours cry."

Alex opened his eyes, but the light was too bright. He had to close them again. Why was it so hot in here?

"Michael," he croaked.

"Yeah. You gotta stick around for Michael."

"Stay the fuck away from him."

The last thing he heard before he drifted off was Ricky laughing.

* * *  
Beep. Beep. Beep.

Alex opened his eyes. Lights blinded him. He squinted, running a hand over his face. Opened them again.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Blinking, he rolled his head on the pillow. Tried to figure out what was going on.

Beep.

Heart monitor. Oxygen. IV. Michael.

Michael.

Alex lifted his hand and placed it on the back of Michael's head. Ran his fingers through the dark strands.

Michael stirred. Made a soft groaning sound in his throat. Sat up, blinking sleepy eyes. When he saw Alex, he smiled. "Hey."

"Hey," Alex whispered, throat dry.

"Hang on." He poured Alex a cup of water and helped him drink it. Then he pressed a kiss against his forehead. "How are you feeling?"

He reached blindly for Michael's hand, needing something to hold on to. "Bad."

"Yeah. They doctor said you had a heart attack. It was mild, but…" He traced Alex's face with his fingertips.

"What… why?"

"High blood pressure. Stress, but… Doctor Parsons was here. He thinks it's because of your diet. The prison's diet. Too much salt, too much fat. Not enough… stuff that doesn't give you high blood pressure." Michael smiled wryly. "He kind of roped me into a new pet project. Wants me to start lobbying for better food in prison."

Alex smiled. Closed his eyes. "That'll go far. People love hearing about criminals."

"I'm sure there is research to support that balanced meals make people not want to commit crimes or something." He rested his head on Alex's stomach. "I'll start as soon as I get you out of here."

"Breaking me out of the hospital?"

Michael smiled. "I could." He climbed onto the bed and stretched out next to Alex. "I could break you out. Run away. Where do you want to go?"

"Somewhere with a beach."

"Everyone wants to go somewhere with a beach." He pressed a kiss against Alex's neck. "You know, we could go to Panama. No one would expect us to go there. I already tried it."

"Mmm." He pressed his face into Michael's hair. Breathed.

"When I was a kid, I always was good at hide-and-go-seek. I'd hide inside clothes, my feet in shoes. And, if I was caught, the next time, I'd go back. No one ever looked where they found me before."

"The FBI isn't so gullible."

"Yeah. Well. There are other tropical islands. Unless, by beach, you just mean the ocean. Because, then, we can go pretty much anywhere."

"Want somewhere warm. Where you don't have to wear clothes."

Michael's face turned red.

Alex kissed the top of his head. "Why are you wearing a suit?"

"Huh? Oh. I was going somewhere. But got delayed."

"Where?"

He sighed. "Washington D.C. I got David to make an appointment with Sullins. I was going to crash it and plead your case."

"Don't bother."

Michael looked up at him. "I will try anything."

"It won't work."

"Then, after, I'll try something else. But I'd hate to do something drastic only to find out that doing something simple would have worked."

Alex sighed. Caressed Michael's neck. "Fine. Sorry I ruined your plans."

Michael laughed a trifle hysterically. "Me, too. God, I was so scared." He clutched at Alex, trembling. "I was already at the airport. They called me over the loudspeaker. Because my phone was off. Linc…. I couldn't even drive. I was shaking too hard."

"Sorry."

"You're okay, so… I guess I forgive you." He kissed Alex gently. "You know, Ricky saved your life."

"What?"

"He saw what was going on. Called the guards. When you stopped breathing, he did CPR. He saved your life."

"Ah, shit," Alex swore.

"What?"

"Now I have to let him date Travis."


	69. Chapter 69

"You need to go home. Sleep," Lincoln said.

Michael looked up from his coffee. Blinked blurrily at his brother. Shook his head. "No. I want to stay with him until they have to take him ba…" He broke off yawning. "Back." He finished stirring his sugar into the paper cup and took a sip. Grimaced.

"I thought they weren't sending him back until tomorrow."

He gave his brother a look before walking past him, heading back to the room.

"Hey. Wait." Lincoln put a hand on his shoulder.

Michael stiffened under the touch, but did as his brother asked. He stared straight ahead, down the hall. Two guards stood outside Alex's room, and the door was locked. Like Alex was in any shape to get up and go anywhere. Not today. Not for awhile.

"Look, we haven't talked since our fight. I thought maybe we should."

"I really don’t want to deal with this right now, Lincoln. My fiancée just had a heart attack." He turned. "I think I have enough stress right now. Let's just forget it."

"No, let's get this stress off your mind." Lincoln took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I saw you, I saw those pictures, and I jumped to the wrong conclusion. I was wrong. And it's because I worry about you and I feel guilty because of what you did for me. Not because I actually think that you'd do something like that again."

Michael sighed. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I forgive you. I get it."

"Do you? Because it's not about me not trusting you. It's about me being afraid of losing you." He moved closer to Michael. Put a hand on his arm. "I've been on edge ever since you stepped into Fox River. It was one thing not talking to you very often. It was another knowing that at any moment someone could stick a shiv in your back and I could lose you forever." He squeezed Michael's arm. "I'm sorry I overreacted. I've just been so stressed about it. About you."

He closed his eyes. Nodded. "I get it. I'm the same way about you. I mean, if I walked in and saw your nose covered with white powder, I'd jump to conclusions. Even if I know that it probably means you're baking with Cameron or something." Michael opened his eyes and looked at his brother. "I need you to stop being afraid of losing me and start… start supporting me. Listening."

"I will."

He licked his lips and said, "Maybe, uh. Maybe you could, uh, come with me. To Dr. Brighton's. Just a couple times."

"You want me to go to counseling with you?"

Michael shrugged. "Maybe. Doctor Brighton has suggested it a few times. Thinks that maybe we need to work on our communication skills."

Lincoln snorted. "Really? Whatever could have given him that idea?" He rubbed the bruise on his jaw gingerly.

"Yeah," Michael said with a wry smile.

"Michael, if you want me to go, I will."

He rubbed his eyes. "Maybe. I don't…" He broke off yawning. Shook his head. "I'm so tired."

"You haven't slept in almost twenty-four hours. And dozing off in a chair doesn't count. No way you're actually getting any sleep."

He just shrugged. Rolled his neck, trying to get out the kinks.

Lincoln put a hand on his shoulder. "Go home, Michael. Alex will understand."

"I'm too afraid if I do, Alex will disappear. I'll sleep tomorrow."

"I'll hold you to that!" Lincoln called as Michael turned and walked back to Alex's room.

He just flashed Lincoln a thumbs up. "Can I get back in?" he asked the guard posted to Alex.

The door was opened and he was let in.

Alex was asleep. It was what he needed, so, good. But he looked so pale and tired and… not old, just… tired. It made Michael's heart hurt and eyes prick.

He sat down on his uncomfortable chair. Pulled it next to the bed and took Alex's hand. Blinked. "I'm so sorry, Alex," he whispered. He kissed Alex's hand. Rested his cheek against it.

As soon as his head was down, the pricking in his eyes became tears. And the tears slipped from his eyes.

Fuck. He didn't want to do this. Alex was fine. He was okay. It wasn't even a serious heart attack. The doctor assured him--well, Pam since Michael wasn't technically related and the state of Illinois wasn't exactly going to recognize his rights as a fiancée (even though no one on staff had any problems with letting him stay in the room around the clock)--that as long as Alex got on a reasonable diet, took the medication to control his blood pressure and cholesterol, and exercised, he'd make a full recovery.

Of course, he also had to watch his stress, which would be easy. After all, the man was just in prison. No stress. And diet? Dr. Parsons could push for a better diet all he wanted, the prison still had to serve about two thousand men. They didn't have time to cater to the needs to each and every inmate.

Prison was going to kill the love of Michael's life. And it wasn't fucking fair.

"Hey." There was a soft caress in his hair. "What's wrong, Michael?"

"Nothing." He blinked. Wiped his eyes on the scratchy hospital sheet. Looked up. "Did I wake you up?"

Alex shrugged. Shook his head. "I've been drifting in and out." He slid his hand down Michael's jaw. Cupped his chin. "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine. I'm tired." He sniffed again and wiped his eyes. "I just… I'm just tired and so worried about you."

"Don't worry about me. I'm going to be okay." Alex took Michael's hand and kissed the inside of his wrist.

Michael just shook his head. "This is my fault."

"Ah. I was wondering when you'd say that."

"What do you mean?"

Alex raised his eyebrow and gave Michael a smile. "Babe, I know you. You think everything is your fault. And your reasoning is always impeccable. Insane, but impeccable. So. How is this your fault?"

Michael sniffed. Grabbed a tissue and wiped his nose. "It's just… if I'd stayed, maybe you would have been eating better."

"Right. Because you're the epitome of healthy eating, what with not eating any vegetables and being the most finicky eater on the planet."

"Well. You'd be less stressed."

"Because I never worried about you. Only, you know, every waking moment."

"I am kind of high maintenance, aren't I?" he said morosely.

Alex pulled him down. Kissed him. "I wouldn't have you any other way." He kissed Michael's upper lip. His lower. "I love you."

"I know, but…. "

"Babe, worry is part of who I am. Who we are. It's okay." He traced his fingers around Michael's ear.

He sniffed. "If I was still there, you wouldn't have had to deal with Ricky and Travis. I mean, let's face it. Either it wouldn't be happening or I'd be the one caught in the middle." A tear fell out of his eye and splashed onto Alex's face. Michael wiped it away and sat back. "If I were still there, you wouldn't be lonely."

"No. I wouldn't be as lonely. But I don't think my stress level would be less."  
"I could have stopped it."

"Through sheer force of will? Even your mind isn't that powerful." Alex sighed and closed his eyes. "This has always been coming, Michael. I just never thought about it. Pam reminded me that my father had high blood pressure and high cholesterol. And both parents on his side died of heart disease. I used to keep watch on it, before Shales. Made sure I ate right, got exercise. After Shales, I just focused on keeping sane."

Michael squeezed Alex's hand. "Well. I guess this is a wake-up call. I mean, the prison does have a library. So, uh, you can start, you know. Figuring out what you can do. I'll work on the food part."

"They do have to feed me a special diet. At least until I'm out of danger, I guess."

"I know. But if the food didn't suck so much in the first place, this, at the very least, could have been pushed off until later. Until you were out."

"What, ten years from now?"

Michael frowned at him. "Don't."

Alex sighed. "It was a joke, Michael."

"No, it wasn't." He climbed onto the bed and carefully arranged himself next to Alex. Slid his hand across Alex's chest and stroked his thumb along Alex's collarbone. "You keep saying things like that. Keep telling me to prepare… prepare for you not coming home. I'm going to. Never going to give up."

"I just don't want you to be hurt," Alex said. His eyes were closed and he looked so lost.

"You kept me alive. My hope alive. Everything you did for me… you believe in me. Now it's my turn to do the same for you. Because I am getting you out of here, I swear. One way or another."

"Just as long as it's legal."

"Well. Yeah. Probably."

Alex rested his cheek against Michael's hair. "Legally. Wouldn't want to give… Sullins the satisfaction… of being right… about. Me."

Michael didn't answer. He shifted positions so Alex's face was resting against his chest. Stroked down Alex's back, his shoulder and arm. Watched the monitors as all vital signs slowed, tracking Alex's descent into slumber.

Once he was sure Alex was asleep, Michael sighed and closed his eyes. His chest ached and throat hurt. Having Alex lose hope in getting out was the worst feeling. Worse than finding out Santa didn't exist. It was like Santa telling you that it'd been good, but he was off to kill himself now. And then blow off his head in front of you.

Alex was his rock. His hope, his joy. All those months in prison, while Michael tried to climb out of the pit he'd been flung into, Alex had been there, shining a light down. Helping him along.

And now Michael had to be that light, but wasn't enough. No way. He could never be as good as Alex had been. Be what Alex needed him to be.

He had to try. Not only to be the hope, but to get him out. He was determined on that point.

There was a knock on the door. Michael lifted his head as it opened and David Wheeler walked in.

Michael lifted his finger to his mouth. Kissed Alex on the forehead, and gently lowered him back to the pillow. He slid off the bed and ushered David outside.

"He just went back to sleep. He's exhausted, so…"

"No, I understand," David said. "How is he?"

"Fine. Okay. The doctor said he'll be fine, that it was just a minor attack. He's going to be put on medication and a diet and stuff, but…. I mean, I think the stress is the worst part. For him. In terms of…" He shrugged and shook his head, not really sure what else to say.

David exhaled and ran his hand through his hair. "Well, that's good. At least. How are you?"

"Um, okay. I guess."

"You look tired."

"I am tired. I haven't been home since… wow. Almost a day in a half." Michael gave David a wan smile.

"Well, uh. I brought Sullins. He's waiting to talk to you in the cafeteria."

Michael blinked. Frowned at David. "You did what?"

"Brought Sullins with me. From D.C. I figured that if you couldn't go to him, I could bring him to you."

"Now?"

"Well, yeah. And he wants to see Alex, too. If it's okay."

"I don't know about that." He ran a hand over his face. "Okay. Take me to him."

Sullins was at a table shoved off in the corner, sipping coffee and eating a slice of pie. He nodded at them as they crossed the room and calmly continued with his dessert.

Michael's stomach growled slightly at the sight of the pie. He couldn't quite remember the last time he'd eaten or what he'd last had. The coffee he'd had before ran through him, making him feel jittery and stupid.

"Mr. Scofield." Sullins wiped his mouth and neatly set his napkin on the table. Then he pushed his seat back and rose, hand out to shake. "It's good to see you again."

"Thank you for coming. For taking time out of work to come and… see me. I really appreciate it."

"Well. David is rather persuasive." Sullins gave the agent a wry smile. "Please, have a seat."

Michael settled across from Sullins. Folded his hands together. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to figure out what to say. His note cards were in his briefcase, which Lincoln had taken home yesterday. His whole speech was in there, all his research, his pictures. How was he supposed to do this?

"Well," Michael started, but was interrupted by a loud grumble from his stomach. "Oh, God," he whimpered, covering his face. "Sorry, I haven't gotten a chance to eat."

"I'll go get you something. A sandwich good?" David said.

"Sure," Michael said gratefully. "And a soda."

"No problem. Be back."

"How's Alex?" Sullins asked.

Michael shrugged. "Okay. Tired. It was a mild heart attack. The doctor said he'll stay for another day of observation, and then be sent back to prison tomorrow."

"What brought it on?"

"High blood pressure and cholesterol. It's partially genetic and partially because of the food in prison. It's not the best. Ever had prison food?"  
"  
Sullins gave him a tight smile. "Can't say that I have."

"It's awful. I mean, yeah, it's crap, but health wise, it's awful. Salty and fatty and just crap. The doctor of the prison wants me to help him get a grant or something to get better foods into prisons."

"Sounds like an interesting project."

Michael shrugged. "I guess." He looked down at the table. Pressed his hand against the puke-yellow plastic. "Look. I know you have problems with Alex and what he did. I understand it."

"I'm sure you do," he replied dryly.

"I do," Michael said, looking up. "Alex made an oath to uphold justice and the Constitution and the law. And he broke that. Broke it and lied and tried to keep it buried. And he was awarded for it. Before it was discovered. Lauded for being such a good agent. For serving the country for so long in so many ways. But it was a lie." He shrugged. "I get it."

Sullins took a sip of coffee. Nodded. "Apparently you do get it." He took another sip, then set his coffee down. "He broke the law. He broke the public's trust. He deserves to be in jail."

"I understand that you feel that way. It's the law and the law must be followed. But, under our law, Alex also has the right to appeal to the president to commute his sentence. And the president has the right to decide whether he's going to allow that petition or deny it."

Sullins cracked his jaw. Kept his eyes focused on the table, not looking at Michael.

"You don't have to agree that Alex deserves to be released. You can even try and convince the president not to grant the commutation. But if you truly want to honor the oaths you've taken and to support the Constitution and this country, then you have to allow justice to take its course. Even if you don't agree with it."

"But here's the thing, Michael. May I call you Michael?"

"Go ahead."

"Here's the thing. The president is very much in the mindset that, as long as the paperwork is in order, that he'll set Alex free. Because the public eye is on him. Because an election year is coming up. Because… I don't know. Because he's under the mistaken impression that Alex deserves it."

"He's paid his time."

"He's paid less than a year of his time," Sullins spat. "He killed four men."

"Four criminals."

"We have a justice system in place to take care of criminals."

"A system which failed rather spectacularly," he pointed out. "Okay, so he killed Shales. A criminal, but… haven't you ever snapped? Done something you shouldn’t have?"

Sullins raised an eyebrow and looked at Michael with disdain. "There's a big difference between, let's say, throwing a coffee mug against the wall in a fit of pique and killing a man."

"Okay." Michael licked his lips. "Okay. So there's no excuse for what he did. But he doesn't belong in prison. He's not a danger."

"He snapped once."

"Because the bastard pushed him. Because he didn't realize what was going on in his head. He's got it under control now."

"I heard he spends most of his time getting in fights."

Michael swallowed and forced himself not to shove the pie in Sullins's face. "He was protecting someone. A kid who was being abused and raped by a lot of men. And protecting himself. Once Travis was gone, Alex stopped fighting."

"Yes, but…"

"He saved a guard!" Michael said, feeling desperate. "Waded into a riot to save a unconscious guard who would have died. Have you any idea the risk he took? A former federal officer in a riot?"

Sullins sighed. "Yeah. I know."

"He saved my life," he said quietly. "I know I'm probably just a criminal to you, one who was given something unfair, but…"

"No. No, I don't think that about you." Sullins shrugged. "As you said, the law failed pretty spectacularly. Thanks to that company, everything was almost taken away from you." He shrugged. "I am aware that not everything in life is black or white."

"Almost nothing is black or white. And even actions, even actions that are unlawful or wrong or… or whatever, might have shades of something that can't be… quantified."

He sighed again. Rubbed his forehead. "What are you asking me to do, Michael?"

"I'm asking you to let Alex have his chance. Let us submit his petition without it disappearing or wind up with missing pages. Just… please. I need him out of there. He needs to be out of there. It took us this long to find each other, and I just want… I want time with him."

"Maybe you shouldn't have left prison," Sullins said. But he said it with a wry smile, softening the words.

Michael returned the smile. "Believe me, I wanted to stay. But all Alex wanted was me out and safe." Without warning, a dark wave washed over him, reminding him where he was and what had happened. "I have to go. I have to… I…" He clumsily pushed back from the table. Ran a hand through his hair.

Sullins caught Michael by the wrist. "Michael. Alex is and always has been a tough son of a bitch. Something like this isn't going to take him down. Believe me."

"But…"

"Sit. David's coming with your food. Eat."

"I can eat with Alex."

Sullins nodded. "I want to see him before I leave."

"Why?" Michael asked warily.

"Because," the other man answered. "I owe him an apology. I always thought that, in the end, I was the bigger man. Looks like I was wrong."

Michael blinked, turning the words over in his head. When they came clear, a rush of joy flooded through him. He looked at Sullins, the knot in his stomach slowly dissolving, and said, "It's not our mistakes that make us small. It's our failure to correct them."

Sullins thought about it. Nodded. "If you want to give me the petition, I'll make sure it gets to the president. But I understand if you don't trust me."

"What are you going to say to him? The president?"

"I think I've lost the right to say anything."

"I'd appreciate if you didn't, but the great thing is that you never lose that right. Not really."

He sighed. Rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know. Probably nothing. I think it's time I let go. Because, in the end, it wasn't about the law. It was about me."

Michael didn't know what to say to that. It wasn't over, and he knew that. Despite everything, the president could still turn it down. Still. A huge obstacle had just been overcome just by a man being willing to rise above his own ego. What could you say to that?

What, besides, "Thank you."


	70. Chapter 70

The sound of the door closing jolted Alex out of sleep. He groggily lifted a hand and scrubbed at his eyes with the back of it.

"Michael?"

"No. Sorry." The voice was familiar, but Alex couldn't place it.

He opened his eyes and allowed his head to loll to the side. "Richard." He rolled away from the door and reached for his water on the tray.

"Michael's still in the cafeteria. His brother came in and saw that Michael was trying to leave without eating, so he made him stay."

"Good. He needs to eat." He found the wand with the bed controls and raised it. "What are you doing here?"

Richard shrugged. He was still standing across the room by the door. He looked… incredibly uncomfortable, fiddling with his shirt cuffs and not making eye contact. "David Wheeler hijacked me. Told me to come. So. Here I am."

"I don't understand. Why?"

"Michael was on his way to D.C. to see me when you had your heart attack. He and David set it up. Since he couldn't come to me, David decided I would go to him. And, since I'm here, I thought I should see you before I go back."

He nodded. "And Michael was going to see you to, what? Get you to convince the president to let me go?"

"Something like that. Only smarter."

"He is smart." Alex let his eyes close again. Yawned. "He convince you?"

"Of course. He is… He is something, isn't he?"

"Yes. He is." Alex scratched the tape surrounding the IV needle. Opened his eyes again to look at Richard.  
"I wanted to apologize. For what I did. Misdirecting your original petition. Stealing the pages out of the second. It was petty of me. And, as Michael pointed out, counter to what I was trying to achieve."

He opened his eyes again.

Richard shrugged again. Sighed and shook his head. "I was trying to pursue justice. I was so… angry with what you did. First Shales and then the others. I was furious that you got away with it for so long and then, after you were found out, were hailed as a hero."

"I wasn't…"

"No, I know. But a lot of guys back at FBI would say how they knew it was wrong, but understood why you killed the bastard. And wished they had the guts to do it. It just drove me crazy. It's one of the reasons I left. Not the only reason, just part of it."

"Why did you leave?"

He pulled a chair to the bed and sat. "I stayed in IA way too long. You weren't even the worst offender. I did manage to ferret out one Company member, but there were others. After awhile, I just sort of lost faith. When Bill was elected president, I knew I had a place. I figured I could better serve justice working for the Department of Justice rather than having to deal with men who'd taken oaths and then betrayed them."

"I can see how that would be a welcome change."

"I've enjoyed it. Although, sometimes I do miss the Bureau. But I'm good where I am."

"Richard?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry for what I did. For killing Shales and the others. I just… just snapped." He shuddered. The heart monitor sped up.

"Alex, please don't overexert yourself. It's fine."

"No, it's not fine. It's never been fine." He shook his head. "I had fun chasing the bastard. At first. He was like Michael: brilliant, crafty, imaginative. I was always one step behind him and it was exhilarating. Like a game. Until Rachel Fleming."

"You remember their names," Richard said quietly.

He nodded. "Every one. Rachel was the first. Raped, beaten, killed. Hair shaved off. Knife marks on her torso. Signs of necrophilia. That was the moment it stopped being a game. And I was so angry myself for forgetting, even for a moment, what was at stake." Alex closed his eyes. "I kept it together, though. When I found him, it was on a hunch. But it wasn't… I'd tried to get into his head. Went to his last known location. Stayed where he'd stayed. Went to a bar I thought he'd go to. He found me there. We fought, and I got him subdued. Cuffed. I was ready to call for backup when he started talking. About Pam. About Cameron. Details that he couldn't have known unless he'd been following them. Where Cam went to school and the path Pam took on her way home from work. And the freckle behind her left knee. The color of Cameron's backpack. Just… too much detail.

"Then he started telling me what he was going to do to Pam. I let him get to me. Let it become too real. And when he started in on Cameron, I lost it. I pulled my gun on him, told him to stop. Warned and warned and warned and then he said the wrong then and I shot him."

Richard ran his hand over his face. Sighed. "You know, I never read your confession. I didn't want to know. I still don't agree with what you did, but I understand it better. I always believed you did it out of hubris."

He laughed bitterly. "I wish I'd been confident enough for hubris. I was terrified the whole time. Paranoid. I was convinced everyone knew or would find out any moment. It was awful. Every moment of my life from the second I pulled the trigger until…" He laughed again, this time a real one. Smiled. "Until the moment Michael broke into my hotel in Panama and ordered me to turn us both in."

"He's a remarkable man."

"He really is."

The door opened and a nurse walked in, guard at her side. "Sorry, sir, you're going to have to leave. I need to check Mr. Mahone out."

Richard nodded and rose. "It was good seeing you again, Alex."

"Thank you for coming out." He held his hand out, wincing when it trembled with fatigue.

Richard took Alex's hand firmly in his. Shook it and gave him a genuine smile. "Take care of yourself, Alex."

"I will."

* * *

"You're going to be good, right?" Michael asked Cameron as he settled the kid on his hip.

"Yes."

"You won't cry when it's time to leave?"

Cameron shook his head. "No."

"You won't make a fuss?"

"No."

"You'll be a brave, strong boy and make everyone proud?"

"Yes, Uncle Mike."

Michael stopped across from Alex's room. Shifted Cameron to his front so he could look into his eyes. "Okay, kid. You understand Daddy's sick. He's really tired, too. He's also hooked up to a lot of machines, so there are wires coming off his chest and arm. But he's okay. His heart got a little tired the other day, and that made him sick. But he's going to get lots of rest and he'll be better."

Cameron nodded, face screwed up seriously. "He had a heart attack."

"Where did you hear that?"

"I heard Lincoln and Mom talking. But they said he'll be okay."

Michael kissed Cameron and gave him a squeeze. "You're right. He will be okay. Let's go."

The guard opened the door. When Cameron saw Alex sleeping, his arms tightened around Michael's neck. He gave a little gasp and laid his head on Michael's shoulder.

"Shhh," he soothed. Rubbed Cameron's back. Kissed him on the top of his head. "Alex?" He sat on the bed, Cameron quiet in his lap. He reached a hand out and gently shook Alex's hand. "Alex."

He twitched. Blinked a couple eyes, then focused them on his son. "Cameron." His voice was dry and scratchy. Wincing, Alex raised the head of his bed, then got some water. When he turned back, his voice was normal. "Hey, Cam. It's good to see you."

"Hi, Daddy," Cameron whispered, kneading Michael's shirtsleeve. His eyes were veiled by his long, silky lashes.

Alex gave an indulgent smile. "How's things at home?"

"Good."

"You all moved in to Lincoln's house?"

"Yeah. I'm staying next to LJ's room. Michael used to sleep there, but now he sleeps in the den. Only, sometimes he stays across the street."

"I'm working on a painting

"Ah. So. Have you decorated your room yet, Cameron?"

He shook his head. "Well. I hanged the Cubs poster. And my Nemo pictures. But we haven't painted it yet. Michael was going to after he came back, but then…" His lower lip stuck out. He turned and pressed his face against Michael's shirt.

"But then your heart got tired," Michael finished, rubbing Cameron's back. "So I came here, instead. And now, I don't have to go to Washington, so that means we can paint your room in a few days."

"What color are you going to paint it, Cam?"

Cameron pulled his face away from Michael's chest, but continued to not look at his father. Picking at Michael's shirt, he shrugged and said, "Dunno. Maybe blue."

Alex sighed. Closed his eyes, looking tired and sad.

He had to do something. Yeah, it was terrifying to see someone you loved sick. And with Alex in jail, and Michael and Lincoln around Cameron full time, Alex was becoming more and more of a stranger to his son.

Which wasn't okay.

So, Michael lifted Cameron off his lap, ignoring the cry of protest and the frantic hands that tried to grab at him. Shifting, he stretched out on the bed alongside Alex creating a small valley between them for Cameron. "Can you roll onto your side?" he asked.

Alex opened his eyes again. Nodded and rolled onto his side.

Michael got Cameron settled between them. When he tried to roll over and cling to Michael, he said, "No, Cam. Roll over."

"But I wanna be with you!"

He kissed Cameron's cheek and turned him to face his father. "You are with me. With both of us. See?" Over Cameron's body, he reached out and took Alex's hand. "Cameron. Why don't you tell your dad about the spelling be at school?"

"We had a spelling bee," Cameron whispered. "And we had to spell all the words we learned this year. If we got one wrong, we were out. And I knew them all and I won. And Ms. Travers gave me a pencil and a certificate with a bee on it."

"You won? That's fantastic. What word did you win with?"

"Um… Looking."

"Can you spell it?"

"Uh. L-o-o-k-i-n-g."

"Wow. You really are amazing."

Michael saw the blush on Cameron's cheek. Felt him wiggle.

"Thank you." Then Cameron reached out and put his hand on Alex's cheek. "Daddy. Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah." Alex took Cameron's hand. Kissed it. "I'm going to be fine, baby."

"Are they going to let you come home soon? Now that it's hurting your heart?"

"No, that's not the way it works. I wish it was, but no."

"But… but Michael is out. And now your heart misses him. And it got tired and you're sick. So they have to let you out."

"Is Sullins still here?" Alex asked.

Michael laughed. "Maybe I can get Cam on the news." He kissed Cameron's head. "That's not quite how it works. You know how you have muscles?"

"Yeah."

"The heart is a muscle, just like your arms or your legs," Alex said, picking up Michael's thread. "And even though I was exercising like you're supposed to, the food I was eating wasn't good for my heart. You know how you hurt your leg?"

"Because I got hit by a car."

"Well, the food I ate was kind of like a car. A small car that kept hitting my heart and leaving bits of itself behind. After awhile, my heart got damaged, just like your leg, and it stopped working. But only for a little bit. The doctors fixed it and now I know there's a problem."

"So, you're going to eat good food now?"

"I'm going to try."

Cameron was silent for a moment. His hand had slid down to Alex's hospital gown. He clutched it, balling it in his fist. Then he said, "Can we tell them that their food made your heart sick and they need to let you go?"

"Cameron…"

"I miss you, Daddy."

Tears filmed Alex's eyes. "I miss you, too, buddy."

He squirmed closer to his father. Gently lay his head next to Alex's. "I almost called Lincoln 'Daddy' yesterday."

"That's okay," Alex said after a moment's pause. "He's going to be your daddy. Step-father, but you can call him that."

"I can't call you all 'Daddy.' And he's not my daddy. You are."

Alex put his arms around Cameron. Gathered him against his body and kissed his forehead. "You can call him Dad."

"Or Pop," Michael suggested.

Cameron giggled. "Popsicle."

Alex grinned and tickled Cameron lightly. "I like Popsicle."

The giggles turned into full blown laughter complete with a thrown back head and wiggles on the sheets. The laughter was infectious, and soon both Alex and Michael had joined in.

Cameron finally calmed. He scooted closer to Alex and wrapped his arms around his neck. "No one else at my school has three daddies. Some people have two daddies and two mommies. But no one has three daddies."

"It's because you're lucky," Alex said.

"I know. Because sometimes those new mommies and daddies don't love them the way Uncle Mike and Lincoln… Popsicle love me." He grinned when he said Popsicle, but it faded away. He rubbed his hand over Alex's arm. Then he traveled down to the wires climbing out from his hospital gown. "What do these do?"

"They keep track of my heart beat."

"Make sure it still works?"

"Yes."

Little fingers traced the IV. "And this?"

"It gives me medicine, right into my blood."

"So it doesn't taste bad?"

"Right."

Cameron frowned a moment. "Can I have that next time I get a cold?"

Alex laughed softly. "I'm afraid not, kiddo. You have to take the syrup the old fashion way."

He wrinkled his nose. "Yuck."

"I agree." Alex leaned in and kissed Cameron's nose. Then he yawned, eyes closing.

"Tired?" Michael asked.

"A little. But don't leave."

Michael shook his head and slid off the bed. "Nope. I figured this might happen. So I brought a movie for us to watch."

"What movie?" Cameron asked, sitting up excitedly.

"Cars."

"Yay! Daddy, Cars is cool! It's got Lightening Mcqueen and he drives fast and he's a racecar and…"

Michael smiled as Cameron continued to prattle on about the wonders of the movie to his father. If he was allowed, he'd sneak out of the room, leaving them alone for awhile. But, rules were rules.

Besides, he thought as he turned back to Cameron and Alex, still giggling to each other on the bed. This was where he wanted to be. With Alex and Cameron, shut away from the world. In a little slice of heaven.


	71. Chapter 71

A mere four days after his heart attack, Alex found himself back in the protective segregation wing of the prison. The whole day had been exhausting. He'd been checked over by his doctor, smuggled out the back to try and avoid the press camped out around the hospital, taken back the prison, forced to walk up stairs that he swore weren't there when he'd left, checked in with about five layers of security and Doctor Parsons before finally, finally, being dropped back at protective seg completely wiped out.

It was stupid and downright annoying how easily he tired. Back in the hospital, they'd had him take short walks, IV in one hand, Michael at the other, guards trailing behind. He'd get about halfway down the hall before getting winded and having to turn back.

"It's just going to take time," the doctor had said. Parsons had echoed the sentiment. Time and rest and a slow build-up of physical activity. Eventually, he'd be back to his old self.

Eventually.

He sighed and rested his head against the wall. A guard he didn't know had escorted him to protective seg and left him, tired and headachy. It was a little better than Simms, because he would have stayed and probably walked him back to his cell. He didn't need an escort.

Not really.

"Hey."

It was like his head was glued to the wall. He struggled a moment. When it came off, it did so too fast and he stumbled back.

"I got you," Randall said, catching him by the shoulders. "You okay?"

Feeling stupid, Alex nodded. "Just, you know. Tired." He began shuffling down the hall towards his cell.

Randall fell into step beside him. "News had a field day with you. Reporting your eminent demise. Michael's heartbreak. That stalker of his is out and called into some talk show about how after you died, she was going to hook up with you."

"You saying all this to make me feel better?"

"Is it working?"

He grinned. "Like a charm." He stopped and placed his hand against the wall, resting. "So. What have I missed?"

"Well, you know how it is around here. Every day another adventure." He rolled his eyes. "O'Connell tripped over something in the yard and broke one of his fingers. Well. Broke it again. They served strawberries at lunch yesterday. Travis and Ricky are dating or something."

Alex sighed. Pushed away from the wall. "Didn't even wait for me to come back, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"Ricky was asking permission or something to date Travis right before I had my heart attack. I said no, by the way."

"I figured you would. Thing is, Travis kind of has a mind of his own. Don't know exactly how it happened, but they've been seeing each other."

"It's prison. Of course they are."

"No. I mean, Ricky has them going on dates. They eat dinner together, off alone at their own table. They walk around the yard, talking, holding hands. It's cute."

He rolled his eyes as they rounded the corner. "Cute, right."

"Ah, come off it, Alex. Travis is old enough to make his own mistakes in love."

Alex just sighed and shook his head again. "Whatever. I need a nap." He shuffled the last couple feet to his cell and stepped inside.

There was a small group inside the cell, all clustered around the table, which had been moved to the back. They were all wearing party hats and talking in low, excited voices. Well, Travis was talking in a low excited voice. They others were just sort of placating him.

Alex cleared his throat.

They all turned. Grinned. "Surprise!" they whispered on cue.

He smiled back. Walked to the bunk and sat carefully down. "A surprise party after a heart attack?"

"That's why we're whispering," Travis explained. "Here." He handed Alex a party hat.

"Thanks." He slipped it on. Leaned back against the railing. "Miss me, I take it?"

"Place isn't the same without you," said O'Connell. "Anyway. We just wanted to be here to give you your present. Then we'll get out of your hair."

"My present?"

O'Connell, Travis, and Sammy stepped away from the table, revealing a small TV.

"Wow. You guys got that for me?" Alex sat up, shaking his head.

"We all pitched in some. Ralston did rest. As a thanks for saving his life."

"God, guys. It's too much."

Randall shook his head. "Naw, it isn't. First, it's not like we won't all be in here watching while you recover."

"And then, once your sentence gets commuted, you can leave it to one of us," said O'Connell.

"Yeah, well. Don't count on that happening any time soon." He slid down on the bed until his head was on the pillow.

"Giving up hope again?" Randall again.

"I just had a heart attack. I'm exhausted. My son is afraid of me, and my gorgeous boyfriend is still thirty-two and way too good for me."

"You're depressed," said Travis.

"I'm told it's common after a heart attack." He forced his eyes open. "Thanks for the TV. I need to take a nap right now, though."

"But we got you cake." Travis picked up a cellophane wrapped Hostess cupcake and waved it.

He rolled his eyes and held his hand out for it. "Where's your boyfriend?"

Travis opened his cupcake and shrugged. "I figured that since he caused your heart attack, it was better that he not be here, you know? Hey, I got a hundred on my last assignment."

"Congratulations. Is he treating you right?"

"I guess. Don't know what right is." He took a huge bite of his cupcake and busied himself with chewing.

Randall and O'Connell exchanged looks.

"We'll get going, Alex. See you at dinner?" Randall said.

"Yeah. Thanks again, guys. This was unexpected."

"We look after each other," O'Connell said. "And you deserve a break, even if it's just in your own cell." He hooked his fingers in Sammy's collar. "Come on, you."

"But… but…" Sammy protested, being dragged out.

"Now!"

"Later, Alex!" his roommate called as he exited the cell.

"Bye," Alex said, eyes on Travis.

Travis wouldn't look at him. He was busy picking off the white icing stripe from the top of the cupcake.

Alex sighed. He was too old for this. "Okay. First off, being nice to you is just… not hitting you or forcing you to do anything you don't want and not playing games with your head. Treating you like… like a person. Respecting you. Randall said he is, I'd just like to hear it from you."

"Why? I mean, don't you trust Randall?"

"I trust Randall. But I want to hear it from you."

Travis let out a heavy sigh and let his head thunk against the wall. "Yeah. He's treating me nice. I mean, he won't do nothing but kiss me. One time he put his hands under my shirt and was stroking skin and all. I told him we could do more, but he said no. Not yet. So, I guess that's treating me right. Maybe."

"Sounds like that to me." He slid his legs off the bed. Leaned forward until he could grab Travis by the belt loop. Pulled him off the chair so he stumbled forward and landed on the bed.

"What?" Travis whined, sounding disturbingly like Cameron.

"It shouldn't matter what I think," Alex said. "About Ricky. About your relationship. It's between you and him and no one else. If you're happy, then that should be all you need."

"But you don't like him."

"Who cares? I can deal. If Ricky is who you want, if he makes you happy, then what I think doesn't matter. All I've wanted since I've met you is for you to be happy."

"I know," Travis whispered. "I'm not used to that. Someone just being nice. For no reason." He wiped crumbs off his face. "From the moment you walked into the cell, I just kept waiting, you know? Trying to figure you out. And when you got into a fight to stop… God, it was Nicky, wasn't it? Nicky was harassing me, and you made him back off."

"I forgot it was Nicky," Alex said honestly. He rubbed his forehead. "I'm so glad they don't look anything alike. Or maybe I would have a problem."

Travis smiled, still not looking at him. "Yeah. But, uh. You kept defending me. Fighting for me. And I kept waiting." He licked his bottom lip. "You don't want sex. You won't want drugs. I don't know what you want, Alex." He looked up, eyes bright with tears. "What do you want?"

He shook his head. "I don't want anything, Travis."

"Everyone wants something. Unless they just don't care." He sniffed.

It was too much effort to sit up again, so he just reached out and took Travis's fingers in his hand. Squeezed them. "I care. And I swear, I just want you to be happy."

"But what does that mean?"

"Just that… what I did, what you went through, meant something. That… that you could go through that and still go on to have a life where you're not in and out of prison, where you're not struggling to make ends meet with someone who treats you badly. That you can have a life."

"That… that you wouldn't be ashamed to have me stop by sometimes, you mean? Like at your house outside of prison."

He thought about it a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. I guess that's what I mean."

Travis sniffed. Wiped his eyes. "I think I can do that."

"Well. Do whatever you do because you want. Go to college and be with Ricky or whatever. Because it's what you want."

"It is." Travis looked at him. Gave him a half smile. "Maybe not college. I mean, I'll take the classes and stuff, but I'm thinking of training to do things with cars. Like, you know. Fix 'em and stuff. I like cars."

"Sounds good." His eyes slid shut. He had to force them back open. Travis's face was blurry. "Travis…"

"You're tired. I'll leave you alone. But, uh. I want to say that I'm really sorry for what I did back when Michael was around. You know, try to get you."

"You already apologized."

He shrugged and looked down at his shoes. "Yeah, but, back when I apologized, I still thought that I, you know. Liked you. Like that. But, um. I don't think I do. Or ever really did. I think I was confused."

"Travis."

"Yeah?"

He smiled at Travis. Nodded. "I never thought you really were attracted to me. Not really."

"Oh." He seemed to contemplate this a moment, then shook his head. "Sorry I was such a stupid kid."

"I've never thought of you as a stupid kid. That's why I'd never give up on you."

The smile he got was blinding. "Thanks. Um. I'll let you sleep." Travis got up and went to the front of the cell. "Want the sheet down?"

"Yeah. Thanks." He rolled over and promptly drifted off to sleep, oblivious to anything else.


	72. Chapter 72

"Michael?" Lincoln pushed the door to Michael's room open, knocking as he did.

The room was dark, save for a sliver of light just under the window, seeping in through the bottom of the curtains. He could see a Michael-shaped lump in the bed.

"Mikey."

"I'm fine, Lincoln," came the muffled response. "You can go back downstairs."

He closed the door behind him and crossed the room. "You've been in here all day. Why don't you come down for some… lunch or breakfast or… ice cream."

Michael snorted. "I'm not a child. I don't need to be placated with treats."

"Michael…"

"I'm tired. I just want to stay in bed and rest. Alone."

A better brother than Lincoln might listen to what was being said. Take the words at face value and leave. Lincoln, however, never claimed to be a good brother. He was pushy and inconsiderate and impatient when dealing with Michael's mercurial moods.

So, he sat on the bed and toed off his shoes before climbing under the covers with his brother.

"Lincoln!" Michael whined, sounding a lot like he had when he was a little boy. Back when he'd retreat under the covers after a bad day. Or when missing his mom became too much. Or after a bad dream or a bad test score or when something on the news frightened him. When he'd hide for hours until Lincoln had to crawl after him to drag him back into the world. "Go away."

"Hey, technically, this is my house," Lincoln said. "You want privacy, you can go across the street."

Michael rolled to face Lincoln. "Maybe I will."

"Fine. Go ahead." He gazed at Michael, daring him. Waiting for Michael to display some energy, some life, some… something other than the lifeless depression he'd sunken into since Alex had gone back to prison.

Michael blinked a couple times. Lincoln held his breath, waiting, so sure…

"Fine," Michael sighed. "Stay. Whatever." He flopped onto his back. Closed his eyes and covered them with the back of his hand.

Lincoln mirrored his posture, only his arm was flung over his head. "So. Aren't you hungry? You missed breakfast and lunch."

"No."

"Yeah, you did. You weren't down for either meal."

"Oh, shut up. You know what I mean. I'm not hungry."

"This isn't going to be one of those things where I end up having to drag you out of bed and into the shower, and then you pass out because you're dehydrated and half starved, is it?"

"I've been drinking water. And going to the bathroom."

"Well. That's something." He rolled onto his side. "I thought you were working on a piece."

Michael shrugged. "It's not important."

"Yeah, it is. You love doing that art. And it's making you a lot of money. And getting you out of the house." He shrugged. "It's something."

"Yeah." Michael poked at the sheets tented above his head. "You're really hot."

Lincoln blinked. Smiled. "Why, thank you, Michael, but I'm in a serious relationship right now."

Blue eyes rolled. "It's gotten a lot hotter since you crawled under here. Stuffy."

He pulled the sheets and blankets off their heads, ignoring the protesting cry of his brother. Michael had been right; it'd been way too hot under the covers. Lincoln had to wipe away sweat beading on his forehead.

Michael sighed, wincing even in the dim light. "Just go away, Lincoln."

"No. This isn't healthy and you know it."

"I don't care!"

"Michael… Michael, why don't you get dressed, and we'll go for a walk or something. Get some air? Talk."

"Why don’t you go fuck yourself?"

"Michael…"

Michael rolled away from Lincoln and hunched away from him, pulling his knees closer to his chest.

Lincoln exhaled. "Will you at least talk to me? Tell me what's the matter?"

Silence.

"I mean, I know things aren't perfect right now, and that you're worried about Alex, but… but you were fine a few days ago. Working on an art piece and doing research about food and stuff. What happened?"

There was an audible sniff. A sigh. Then, in a soft, monotone voice, Michael said, "That was a few days ago. When I still thought… thought that. Well." He sighed. "It's been almost three weeks since Sullins went back and gave Alex's petition to the president. Three weeks. We should have heard something. Anything. But we haven't. Not a word. Not a whisper. So. That's it."

"That's what?"

"You know. It's… it. It's all over. Alex is stuck. Ten more years, if he's lucky. He could be in there for fifteen."

"Michael…"

He rolled over to face Lincoln. His eyes were red. "No. No, I can't. I… I shouldn't have ever let myself be talked into doing the petition in the first place. If I hadn't, I would still be in there with him. I'd still be with him and he'd be okay. But I was selfish and now… now he's going to die in there and I'm…." He broke off, clenching his jaw tightly.

Lin reached out and gently punched his brother in the arm. "Look. The president is a busy man. Maybe he's just… busy, you know? He's got a country to run."

"He found time to pardon me. I didn't even ask for that."

"That was different."

"It shouldn't have been." He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Michael… you just got to have faith. Just a little… just a little longer."

He sat up. "It's always just a little longer! After Nicky… Alex kept saying that. That it would get better, just hang on. Just a little longer. And then the riot happened. And I stopped… I couldn't… But Alex kept insisting. Kept telling me to hold on to hope. That it would all work out. That I wouldn't always feel like I was and then… then things started feeling just a little okay. Not great, not good. But I was… okay and Alex… and then Travis came and I got sick and Ricky… and then just as it got okay again, they made me leave him. And I shouldn't have been pardoned. And it's not better here, it hasn't gotten better. Iit hasn't, Lincoln. I'm here and he's in there and I don't know what to do! I shouldn't be here, I'm… I broke a pedophile out of prison. People died because of me and I shouldn't have been… and he…" He fell back. Draped his arm over his eyes. "He shouldn't be in there. And I am so tired."

"Michael…" He broke off when he realized his brother was crying.

Well. Shit.

Lincoln sighed and moved closer to his brother. Slipping his arms around him, Lincoln pulled Michael against him. Stroked his hair and down his back. There was nothing he could say to make this better. It was just something Michael had to get through. A stage of grief or something. Michael always did like to skip denial and bargaining and go straight for despair. Then stay there.

So, Lincoln held Michael as he cried. Soothed him like he had so many times when they were growing up. When Michael missed their mother, or the world was too confusing for him to deal with. Such a brilliant kid and so Goddamn lonely. Every four or so months, like clockwork, Michael would come home from school, crawl into bed until Lincoln got home. Then, once he was safe in Lincoln's arms, he'd dissolve into tears, perplexed as to why the other kids treated him like a freak and his science teacher hated him so much and why did Laura always look at him during math and… and why.

And Lincoln had never had any answers (except on Laura, who'd had a huge crush on Michael; when Lincoln had told him, Michael had gotten so flustered around Laura he'd almost flunked the class). But he didn't know why the other kids couldn't see how perfect Michael was, or why some middle age teacher was so jealous of a preteen kid. Or why Michael's big brother, who should be taking care of him, so often failed to remember to do basic things like buy bread and milk. He hadn't had answers then, and he didn't have them now. All he could offer was this.

There was a noise outside. Someone driving too quickly down the street. He's glad Cameron's at school. He was good at staying out of the street, of course, but it still made Lincoln and Pam both nervous when he played outside. Cameron was careful; cars were not.

Michael sniffed. Pulled the sheet up and wiped his nose on it. "I don't know how I'm going to be able to see him on Saturday. He needs me to keep his spirits up. To go in and be positive and hopeful and… In prison, he did it for me. All those days when I couldn't get out of bed, he got me up and out and… happy. I have to be the strong one now and I can't."

"Well, right now, you don't have to do anything."

Another set of tires squealed outside. And another. Christ, there was going to be a crash if they kept it up.

"Right now," Lincoln continued, "you still have a few days. You can cry and be depressed and call Dr. Brighton and try to get in before Saturday. Start working on getting your head straight. And, if you're a little down when you go to see him, it's okay. Don't stress about it."

"But what if me being depressed makes him depressed?"

"Then kiss him. Take your sketch pad and draw a picture of him. Talk about your wedding. Write vows. Distract both of you. Just…"

Downstairs, there was a loud shriek.

"Was that Pam?" Lincoln asked as he shot out of bed.

"Yeah." Michael was right behind him, running out into the hall and down the stairs.

"Pam? Are you okay?" called Lincoln, heart pounding.

Pam was in the living room, holding the phone. Her free hand covered her mouth. Her eyes were full of tears.

"Pam?"

She sniffed. Dropped her hand. Her eyes sought Michael and she gave him a smile. "The commutation came through. Alex is getting out."


	73. Chapter 73

The suit was three sizes too big. Everyone had told Alex he'd lost weight, but he hadn't noticed. His prison uniform shrunk with him, either someone in laundry noticing his loss in size or Michael sticking in orders for new clothes. Now, in the suit he'd been wearing when he was admitted, it was obvious.

Alex smoothed down his tie. Sat, quietly, waiting.

The door opened and Dr. Parsons stepped in. "Okay, you're done here. Just need you to sign some forms and give you your medication, and you're out of here."

He nodded.

"Alex? Alex, are you okay?" Dr. Parsons stepped in front of him. Picked up his wrist and felt his pulse.

"I'm fine. Why?"

"Well. Your blood pressure is low for you, but that could be your drugs. But you seem spaced."

He licked his lips and sighed. "I… I can't…" He didn't know how to phrase it. He just shook his head.

Dr. Parsons dropped Alex's wrist. Put a hand on his shoulder instead and squeezed. "It's okay, Alex. You're not the first man to feel a sort of emotional shock on being released. Your was so sudden, you didn't have any time to prepare."

Alex shook his head.

"And as for Travis, he'll get over it. He's upset. He's losing a father, again. And all he can see is that you're leaving. When you come back to visit him, he'll see. Don't worry about him."

"I can't do this."

"Yes you can."

"I can't… In here, it was so simple. I could be… be what he needed. Who he needed. We were in our own world here, and out there…"

"Every relationship has its problems. As long as you and Michael remember to communicate, you'll do fine out there."

Alex nodded, even though there was a lump in his throat as big as an apple. His stomach felt as if it contained a brick.

"Is he here?"

"He's in the warden's office, waiting. All you need to do is sign the papers."

Alex nodded. He slid off the exam table and took the clipboard that Dr. Parsons handed him.

"Thank you." Dr. Parsons took the clipboard back. Then he reached out and shook Alex's hand. "So. Michael has my number. Call me sometime. For anything."

"Thanks."

Simms met him outside. "Looking good, Mahone."

He managed a smile, then smoothed his hand uneasily down his tie. "If slightly rumpled and baggy."

"Ah. You'll gain it back. And get an iron." He clapped Alex on the back. "Let's go."

Alex fell into step next to Simms. There was a kind of expectant silence, like Simms was waiting for him to say something. To open the conversation. But Alex didn't know what to say. His brain had broken sometime yesterday, when he'd been told he was getting out. Ever since then, nothing had made sense.

They were nearly to the warden's office when Simms finally said, "You know, I work in medium security for a reason. Never wanted to deal with death row inmates. Do that whole dead man walking thing. But now…"

"Sorry," Alex forced out through lips that didn't want to work. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm just a little… out of it. Didn't sleep last night. I still can't believe this is happening. And I'm a little afraid of what will happen."

"I'm sure it'll all be fine. You're going home."

He stopped. Leaned against the wall, heart pounding. "I've never lived there. It's not my house. And… it's Michael. And everyone. Pam and my son and… Lincoln and LJ and… it's too much."

"Okay, calm down, Alex, okay? Just breathe."

The walls were closing in on him. There was pressure on his chest and sweat beading at his temples. His hands shook, so he clenched them, trying to hide it.

"Alex. Look at me." Simms put his hands on Alex's shoulders. Leaned close.

He swallowed. Looked up, meeting Simms's eyes.

"Just focus on breathing right now. Nothing else. In and out, right?"

"Okay." He took in a deep breath, inhaling until he started coughing. He swallowed, then took another, exhaling slowly. Kept doing it. Gradually, the pressure against his chest eased. The walls receded and the panic ebbed.

"Okay, look. It's never easy leaving prison. No one wants to stay, but if they're here long enough, they all get nervous leaving. I mean, you get used to it in her. Same walls every day. Same routine. Same people. It's all limited and you get used to that. You start creating a whole world in here, and you might hate every minute of it, but it's what you know. But, out there, you know it's bigger and you have to make your own decisions, and life moves at a mile a minute. So, don't think about all that. Just… think about getting to the warden's office. Getting to Michael, because I know you're nervous about going to live with him, but I also know you love that kid more than anything in the world. Right?"

Alex closed his eyes. Thought of Michael, and his sleepy smiles and brilliant eyes and the way he made something inside Alex light up. "Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah. I do."

"And you want to see him?"

"Yes."

"So. What are we standing around here for?"

He rolled his eyes and pulled away from the wall. "Yeah, you're right. Lay on, McDuff. And get me the hell out of here."

Simms laughed and clapped Alex on the back. "That's my boy. Let's blow this joint."

* * *  
He sat in the warden's office, fingers tapping restlessly on his knee. On the desk in front of him was an untouched mug of coffee. He can vaguely remember the warden offering it when he came, and accepting. Michael hasn't a clue why he would do such a thing. He was so excited that Alex was finally coming home he couldn't. Couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't stop moving. And now he was here, sitting in the warden's office, trying to make small talk, while every nerve, every sense, everything was focused on the door.

"And then, of course, we plan to just… open the doors and let everyone out," the warden said.

"Oh," Michael responded, eyes flicking back to the door.

"Except for those who are hanging by their thumbs from the ceiling, of course."

"Right. Wait. What?"

The warden laughed. Shook his head and grinned at Michael, eyes rolling in amusement. "I was running out of insane things to say, Michael, trying to get your attention."

"Sorry." He picked up his coffee. Sipped it. "I'm just… distracted."

"I understand. And I'm sorry it's taking so long."

Michael shrugged. Smiled lopsidedly. "I don't care."

The warden returned his smile. "No. I know you don't. I'm glad this finally happened, Michael. Alex has been in here long enough."

"Yeah. He has." He shifted. Tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. "I, uh. I've been looking into that, um. Diet thing. For improving foods in prisons and stuff. A little."

"Well, that's more Parsons' department than mine. Although I do appreciate it. I'm trying very hard to turn this place into a model for the rehabilitation of criminals. Of course, we still want to punish, but eventual aim is to…"

The door opened and the warden's voice faded away. Alex stepped into the room behind Simms. Talk. Scarecrow thin. Hair combed, but still stylishly mussed in that way he was always able to get it. Eyes like silver and gleaming at him. Locked on Michael's.

Michael rose. He felt like he was floating as he crossed the room to Alex. Into his arms. Their mouths met. Softly. And Alex's fingertips trailed down his spine and it was… perfect.

"You ready to go home?" Michael whispered, his forehead resting against Alex's.

A smile broke out on Alex's face. He cupped Michael's cheek in his palm, thumb over his lips. "Yeah, babe. Let's blow this joint."

Fin


End file.
